LIBRARY 

OK   THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
1 

U 

Class 


(0eorge  Cabot 


HERAKLES.    vmo,  $1.25, net.    Postage  extra. 
THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE.    i2mo,  $1.00, nit. 
Postpaid,  $1.07. 

CAIN:  A  Drama.     121110,  $1.00,  net.   Postpaid, 
$1.09. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


HERAKLES 


HERAKLES 

BY 

GEORGE  CABOT  LODGE 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

fttootfibe  pre^  Cambri&0e 
1908 


COPYRIGHT,   1908,   BY  GEORGE   CABOT  LODGE 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  November  igoS 


"...  AMPHITRYON,  banished  from  Tiryns,  estab 
lished  himself  at  Thebes.  Herakles,  brought  up  in  that 
city  and  skilful  in  physical  exercises,  surpassed  all 
other  men  in  the  strength  of  his  body  and  the  greatness 
of  his  soul.  He  was  scarcely  adolescent  when  he  deliv 
ered  Thebes  [from  the  tyranny  of  Erginus  and  the 
Minyans],  and  thus  paid  his  debt  of  gratitude  to  his 
country.  .  .  .  The  fame  of  this  exploit  spread  through 
the  whole  of  Greece,  and  every  one  admired  it  as  a 
prodigy.  Creon,  the  King,  himself  impressed  by  the 
courage  of  the  young  man,  gave  him  his  daughter 
Megara  in  marriage;  and,  treating  him  like  his  own 
son,  confided  to  him  the  government  of  his  kingdom. 
But  Eurystheus,  King  of  Argos,  jealous  of  the  growth 
of  the  power  of  Herakles,  summoned  him  to  appear  be 
fore  him,  and  ordered  him  to  perform  his  labours.  At 
first  Herakles  refused,  but  Zeus  commanded  him  to  obey 
Eurystheus.  Herakles  went  to  Delphi,  and,  having  con 
sulted  the  oracle,  he  was  told  that  the  Gods  ordered 
him  to  perform  the  twelve  labours,  and  that,  after 
their  completion,  he  would  receive  immortality. 

"  On  receiving  this  command,  Herakles  fell  into  great 
distress  [of  mind]  ...  he  was  seized  with  a  frenzy.  .  .  . 
Madness  took  possession  of  his  sick  mind  ...  in  one 
of  his  ecstasies  of  fury,  .  .  .  Herakles  pierced  with 
arrows  the  children  which  he  had  had  by  Megara.  . 


176738 


Having  recovered  from  his  madness  and  become  aware 
of  his  error,  he  was  greatly  afflicted  by  the  excess  of  his 
misfortune  ...  he  remained  quietly  withdrawn  in 
his  house  for  a  long  time,  avoiding  all  human  society. 
Time  having  calmed  his  grief,  Herakles  went  to 
Eurystheus,  determined  to  affront  every  peril  [and  per 
form  the  labours].  .  .  . 

"  Zeus  kept  Prometheus  chained  for  having  given  fire 
to  mankind,  and  caused  his  heart  to  be  devoured  by  an 
eagle.  Herakles,  seeing  that  Prometheus  was  punished 
only  for  having  done  good  to  men,  .  .  »  saved  the 
common  benefactor." 

DIODORUS  SICULUS,  iv,  10-11,  and  15. 


CHARACTERS 

HERAKLES 

MEGARA,  his  wife 

AMPHITRYON,  his  father 

ALCMENA,  his  mother 

IOLAUS,  his  nephew 

THE  THREE  SONS  OF  HERAKLES  (in  infancy) 

THE  POET 

THE  WOMAN 

CREON,  King  of  Thebes,  father  of  MEGARA 

THE  MESSENGER  OF  EURYSTHEUS 

TEIRESIAS 

THE  PYTHIA,  at  the  Temple  of  Apollo  at  Delphi 

THE  PROPHETES  at  the  Temple  of  Apollo  at  Delphi 

PROMETHEUS 
also 

MEN  AND  HARLOTS  FROM  THE  TAVERN 

THE  CHORUS  OF  RESPONDENTS,  in  the  Temple  of  Zeus 
at  Thebes 

THE  CHORUS  OF  WORSHIPPERS,  before  the  Temple  of 
Apollo  at  Delphi 

THE  CHORUS  OF  OLD  MEN,  before  the  Temple  of  Hera  at 
Thebes 
also 

Guests  at  the  King's  feast,  Populace,  Soldiers,  Messen 
gers,  Slaves,  etc. 


FIRST  SCENE 


The  Agora  at  Thebes.   Sunset. 

The  Agora  is  empty  except  for  the  WOMAN,  who  is  seated 

on  a  bench  against  the  wall  of  a  house,  and  the  POET, 

who  stands  before  her,  facing  the  sunset. 


I    UNIVERSITY  } 

A  OF 

^sg^L  i  FQ  P.  N\^X 


HERAKLES 

FIRST  SCENE 

The  POET 

The  birds  go  home  at  sunset,  and  my  heart 
Goes  home.  The  day  closes  its  tired  wings, 
And  in  the  violet  evening  there  are  stars 

And  silence And  the  best  there  was  to  do, 

The  best  of  us  we  left  undone  to-day, 
Now  like  a  warrior  worn  with  doubtful  wars, 
Waits  for  the  morrow,  heart-sick  yet  resolved. 
The  sense  of  life  is  secret  and  serene 
At  twilight,  and  the  flame  of  life  — 

The  WOMAN 

Is  love ! 

The  POET  turns  as  tho'  suddenly  recalled  to  a  sense  of 
her  presence,  and  looks  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

The  POET 

Of  old  your  eyes  persuade  the  heart  like  peril 

You  are  the  Siren  of  the  seas  of  life. 
What  stately  ships,  full-sailed  for  Paradise, 
Captained  by  young,  superb  adventurers, 
Haughty  in  hope,  impassioned  in  resolve, 

l  •  ] 


HERAKLES 

Thrilled  with  a  mystic  wonder  in  the  mind, 
Drawn  from  their  course,  lie  shipwrecked  on  your 

shores !  — 

What  is  your  wish  with  me  ?  I  saw  your  eyes 
Call  to  my  heart  across  the  crowded  square. 
Now  in  the  sunset  all  the  crowd  is  gone. 
We  are  alone.  Why  did  you  summon  me? 
A  moment's  pause. 

The  WOMAN 
You  are  but  newly  come  into  the  city? 

The  POET 
Since  yesterday. 

The  WOMAN 
What  race  and  place  are  yours? 

The  POET 

In  Athens  was  I  born,  and  there  my  youth 
Was  spent,  and  there,  if  home  there  be,  is  home. 

The  WOMAN 

Why  are  you  come  to  Thebes?   What  hope  of  good, 
What  fear  of  ill  impels  your  feet  so  far  ? 

The  POET 

My  hope  is  nameless,  and  the  ills  I  dread 
Are  housed  within  me !  —  but  the  restless  mind 
[    *    J 


FIRST  SCENE 

While  there  is  life,  affords  us  no  reprieve; 
The  impatient  heart,  eagerly  and  beyond 
The  daybreak  and  the  dark,  drives  us  afar 
Over  strange  oceans  and  unvisited  lands 

The  WOMAN 

The  impatient  heart !  —  O  Heart  of  man  that  yearns 
After  the  Stranger  Woman  of  young  dreams ! 

The  POET 

I  know !  I  know !  —  young  dreams ! But  mine  are 

old, 

Tragic  and  old,  divine  and  real  as  life, 
And  dwell  within  me  like  a  visitation 
Of  Truth's  unconquerable  and  mystic  hope 
Wliereof  no  part  is  the  flushed  heart's  desire. 
What  tho'  —  as  inwardly  my  blood  believes  — 
You  were  the  Stranger  Woman  — 

The  WOMAN 

I  am  She ! 

And  anciently  and  now  I  am  the  one 
Inveterate  quest  of  life's  dream-haunted  days. 
In  myriad  ways  you  seek  me,  and  you  find 
Me !  —  tho'  you  think  to  find  a  lordlier  thing. 
Yet,  tho'  you  find  me,  you  shall  know  me  not, 
And  I  am  strange  to  you  forever ! 


FTFRAKTFSt 

fie  POET 

To  me 

Nothing  of  you  fa  strange  —  unless  your  name ! 
I  have  had  many  Eves  before,  where  you 
Woe  something  more  to  me  than  fife  itself ; 
And  after  all  my  youth's  vexed  years  with  you, 
I  know  you  and  your  secret  —  and  the  soul 
Within  you,  dark  and  undivined,  I  know ! 
I  am  so  long  pnasraad  off  you  I  seem 
To  have  you  as  I  have  the  voice  of  song, 
dear  in  my  heart  and  brain.  There  is  no  phrase 
Of  liMg,Hi  •  or  desire  or  lamentation 
IB  afl  the  tales  and  tremors  of  your  voice, 
Various  as  wind,  no  silver  gayeties, 
No  cries,  tense  and  tear-laden,  strange  to  me. 
There  is  no  perfume,  bounty,  brilliancy 
Or  pleasure  of  your  body,  nor  the  least 
Stir  of  your  subtle  silks  I  know  not  of. 
I  know  the  grave,  smooth  silence  of  your  brows; 
And  when  your  fips  are  eloquent  and  flushed 
TSith  hungiLt  and  with  thirst  of  love,  I  know  you ! 
I  know  the  swift,  sweet  motion  of  your  hands 

When  they  are  fain  of  touch  and  tenderness 

And  I  hate  long  explored  and  learned  to  know 
The  deep,  dark  twilights  of  your  eyes  and  hair, 
The  young,  pale  profile  of  your  breasts  —  and  how 
You  are  afl  warm  and  lustrous  and  superb ! 
within  the  house  of  ivory, 

[    6    1 


FIRST  SCENE 

The  house  of  rose  and  pearl,  am  I  a  stranger : 
Your  thought  is  in  my  brain,  your  mighty  heart 
Is  in  my  heart,  —  your  soul  is  in  my  soul ! 
I  know  the  chaste  reluctance  and  the  wild 
Appeal  of  the  indomitable  desire 

When  life  is  given  entire  as  love  will ! 

And  I  have  seen  and  celebrate  in  you 
The  patient,  tender  truth  and  trust  and  care, 
The  soul's  perfection  breathing  into  life 
Thro'  love's  obscure  and  elemental  ways 

The  WOMAN 

You  love  me !  I  am  she !  I  am  the  quest, 
I  am  the  goal !  —  You  love  me ! 

The  POET 

I  have  learned 

How,  in  the  last  fulfilment  of  the  spirit, 
There  is  a  nobler  end  for  life  than  love, 
There  is  a  nobler  end  for  love  than  you ! 

The  WOMAN 

You  have  not  well  beheld  me,  who  I  am,  — 
The  Stranger  Woman,  even  the  truth  of  dreams, 
Splendid  and  strong  and  secret 

The  POET 

Fairer  still 

Is  the  celestial  bride,  and  statelier ! 

I  have  so  greatly  loved  you  that  my  love 
[    7    ] 


HERAKLES 

Is  grown  out  of  its  childhood,  which  you  are, 
To  more  than  you  can  welcome  —  more  than  all 
Your  love  and  you  can  freely  welcome  home ! 
I  am  alone  and  silent  after  all; 

For  none  receive  me  now,  none  love  me  now 

Time  was  when  you  received  me,  when  your  heart 

Was  radiant  and  a  refuge  to  me! — then 

I  uttered  and  was  heard !  —  and  I  devised 

To  set  the  sunset-coloured  gem  of  song 

Upon  your  brows,  to  make  your  raiment  of 

The  unquiet  silver  of  calm,  moonlit  seas, 

To  give  you  sandals  hued  like  flowers,  and  fill 

Your  eyes  with  daybreak,  and  transfuse  your  hair 

With  forest-twilights  when  the  leaves  are  young 

And  it  is  morning! Then  I  said  the  new, 

The  utmost  things,  and  all  things  of  you ;  kissed 
The  wine-cup  and  your  lips  —  straitly  to  feel 
The  sacred  frenzy  shake  this  heart  that  bears 
The  sacred  flame,  until  I  sang  to  you 
The  wonder-song  of  the  primeval  earth  — 
How  Eros  was  first-born  of  all  the  Gods, 
And  first  made  Chaos  pregnant  of  the  world. 
O  there  was  that  to  rouse  me  in  a  woman !  — 
The  beauty  that  is  wanton  as  life  is ; 
The  candour  that  is  crystal-clear  as  stars; 
The  love  that  has  no  other  end  but  life, 
The  life  that  has  no  other  end  but  love; 
And  all  she  is  not,  and  the  secrecy 
[    8    ] 


FIRST  SCENE 


She  is,  —  and  life's  lost  wisdom,  pure  of  thought, 
Which  rises  in  her  from  what  sunless  springs ! . . 
But  now  the  ecstasies  of  thought  advance 
The  torch  beyond  the  precincts  of  your  love, 
Beyond  the  human  pale  of  your  dominion. 

The  WOMAN 

So  does  life  weary  when  its  youth  is  spent  — 
And  you  count  weariness  a  kind  of  wisdom ! 
O  you  are  wise  —  in  words !    You  are  a  poet ! 
The  cheat  is  not  too  plain.  Yet  one  discerns 
How  you  are  chafed  and  sharpened  with  desire ! 
The  thrill  strikes  thro'  —  and  you  make  poems  of  it, 
Since  there's  imagination  left  at  least 
To  prove  us  how  we  are  not  respectable 
And  give  to  lust  a  lyric  rapture :  —  Yes ! 
Tamed  tho'  he  be,  the  animal  will  sing! 

The  POET 

The  animal  will  sing  and  drink  and  lust 
And  lie  with  you  and  love  you  —  as  a  beast 

Can  love ! for  these  and  all  hilarities 

Of  the  hot  blood  are  still  and  anciently 
The  same  —  they  share  their  excellence  with  you ! 
It  is  alone  the  spirit  which  is  chaste; 
Which  is  austere  and  high;  which  is  not  eased 
By  all  old  pious  and  pleasurable  things; 
Which  is  athirst  for  news !  —  and  in  the  search 
[    9    ] 


HERAKLES 

Is  ventured  out  of  your  horizons,  far 
Gone  past  you  and  beyond  you,  to  return 

No  more whether  the  quest  prove  real  or  vain ! 

I  guess  myself  is  more  than  you  suppose, 

And  excellent  even  beyond  my  dreams !  — 

Who  shall  instruct  me  further  what  I  am 

And  shame  my  aspiration  by  their  own  ? 

Not  you,  indeed !  I  know  your  message  to  me. 

You  tell  me  nothing :  for  it  is  not  I, 

The  lyric  voice,  the  florid  animal, 

The  lover,  who  is  yours  —  as  he  must  be 

Who  asks  neither  advancement  nor  the  news ! 

The  WOMAN 

What  are  you  more  than  sense  and  sentiment, 
Like  other  men  ?  I  have  known  men  enough !  — 
And  many  men  your  betters,  and  some  men 
Strained  to  a  singular  high  attitude 
Like  yours,  —  and  I  have  found  where  lust  was  laired 
In  all  of  them !  You  leave  me  undeceived : 
The  brute  nurses  his  passions  at  your  breast, 
And  at  the  heart  of  your  humanity 
There  is  the  weak,  wild  longing  of  all  men 
Merely  for  love  and  life's  companioned  joys 
And  the  mild  fruit  of  happiness. 

The  POET 

Not  I 
Am  minded  any  more  for  facile  things. 

[  10  ] 


FIRST  SCENE 

For  the  indwelling  God  stirs  in  his  sleep 

Within  me,  seeing  in  dreams  the  early  light 

Of  dawn  blur  the  blind  casement  of  his  room 

The  WOMAN 

Poor  windy  man,  so  grandly,  with  God's  name, 
Mystic  and  eloquent !  O  you  are  desolate 
As  a  dead  mind !  I  may  not  well  believe 
Laughter  stirs  nowhere  in  you  —  as  in  me 
It  leaps  to  shatter  down  your  dreams 

The  POET 

Of  all 

Sad  things  I  least  can  laugh  with  you.  Despise, 
Pity  me  as  you  will,  yet  so  it  is : 
I  have  not  any  sense  of  humour  in  me ! 
I  was  not  once  so  naked  to  the  truth, 
So  daring  and  defenceless;  I  was  keen- 
Sighted  to  see  the  humour  of  the  thing 
And  none  outlaughed  me !  —  but  at  last  I  felt 
Something  more  terrible  than  ridicule 
Strangely  and  stern  as  justice  in  myself ! 
Then  your  alert  and  cherished  humour-sense 
Sickened  and  all  died  out  in  me,  died  utterly 

Away and  left  me  with  an  abject  smile, 

Which,  like  a  threadbare  cloak,  can  scarce  afford 
Decent  concealment  to  me  from  the  world,  — 
And  something  that  still  serves  for  laughter  when 


HERAKLES 

The  wine  is  in  me ! But  my  secret  is 

That  I  am  serious !    You  will  think  me  mad ! 
But  there  have  lightened  to  my  inward  eye 
Spacious  and  radiant  serenities 

Wherein  there  is  a  voice  calling  me  on ! 

My  heart  is  shaken  with  the  power  of  it ! 
Before  my  citadel  it  sounds  a  challenge 
To  wake  the  audacious  virtues  of  the  soul, 
Which  are  themselves  their  own  sole  arbiter !  — 
Therefore  I  can  no  longer  laugh  with  you. 
I  am  too  tensely  nerved  with  expectation 
Still  to  discern  and  celebrate  the  joke, 
And  sort  my  mood  with  yours. 

A  moment's  pause. 

And  so  all's  said, 

And  I  will  leave  you  with  your  life,  your  love, 
Your  laughter  —  which  I  neither  serve  nor  share. 
Night  has  fallen.    The  POET  pauses  a  moment  and 

then  starts  to  go.   The  WOMAN  rises  suddenly  and 

prepares  to  follow  him. 

The  WOMAN 

It  shall  not  be  —  I  will  not  leave  you  now. 
A   moment's  silence  while  the  POET  looks  at  her 
intently. 

The  POET 
Why  do  you  follow  me  ? 

[    12    ] 


FIRST  SCENE 

The  WOMAN 

I  have  no  light. 

The  POET 

And  have  I  any  you  are  witness  of  ?  — 
You  know  not  what  I  am  nor  where  I  go. 

The  WOMAN 

I  have  discerned  that  you  are  something  more 
Than  other  men,  to  me.   You  give  my  life 
Serious,  at  last,  and  strange  significance. 
And  there  is  latent  in  your  words  to  me 
Expression  of  supreme  and  secret  things, 
Phrases  of  song  that  bring  a  high,  swift  sense 
Of  flight  and  of  adventure  to  the  soul ! 
And  what  I  have  received  of  other  men 
You  give  me  not  —  the  love,  the  lust,  the  gold, 
Which  are  a  woman's  price  to  the  whole  world. 
O,  I  am  curious  of  the  fellowship 
Of  one  who  will  not  love  me  lest  he  lose 
The  marriage-kiss  of  the  celestial  bride,  — 
Lest  being  my  master  he  is  not  his  own, 
And  gaining  me  he  lose  himself  thereby. 
Therefore  I  will  not  leave  you  —  for  a  little .... 
It  may  be  I  shall  one  day  touch  the  term 
And  find  the  worth  of  words,  as  now  I  am 
Not  curious  of  love  nor  eager  any  more. 

Then  I  shall  leave  you and  go  on  with  life, 

Satiated  anew  and  hungry  as  of  old ! 
[    13    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  POET 

Hungry  ?  —  for  news !  for  news ! You  know  it  too, 

The  hunger  and  the  thirst  that  drive  us  on, 
As  once  the  gad-fly  drove  across  the  world 
The  paranymph  of  God,  delirious  lo  ? 
You  know  the  hunger? — then  we'll  go  together, 
Whither  we  cannot  tell,  nor  to  what  end ! 


End  of  the  First  Scene. 


SECOND  SCENE 


A  later  hour  of  the  same  night  as  in  the  first  scene.  A  feast  in 
the  palace  of  CREON. 

About  the  feast-table  are  CREON,  HERAKLES,  AMPHI 
TRYON,  ALCMENA,  MEGARA,  IOLAUS,  and  other 
men  and  women  of  noble  Theban  families.  A  HERALD 
stands  behind  the  King's  chair.  The  feast  is  served  by  slaves 
and  the  door  guarded  by  soldiers. 


SECOND  SCENE 

CREON 

to  the  HERALD 
The  feast  is  ended.   Call  for  silence ! 

The  HERALD 

Silence ! 
Silence !  The  King  will  speak ! 

There  is  silence.   Then  is  heard  a  murmur  as  of  a  great 
throng  outside  the  palace.  A  moment's  pause. 

CREON 

Hearken ! To-night 

There  is  a  rumour  in  my  porticoes 
Of  multitudes.  It  is  my  people.  I 
Have  called  them,  and  this  hour  would  straitly 

speak 

With  them  and  you.   I  have  not  lightly  caused 
Assemblage  of  yourselves  and  all  the  sons 
Of  Cadmus,  for  with  news  of  great  concern 
To  all  my  people  am  I  charged  to-night. 

To  the  guards 

Therefore  set  open  wide  the  doors  and  bid 
[    17    ] 


HERAKLES 

My  Thebans  enter !  I  have  words  to  say 
And  deeds  to  do  that  must  not  longer  wait. 
The  doors  are  thrown  open  and  the  people  enter  with 
out  confusion.  Gradually  the  entire  hall  is  completely 
filled.    When  they  are   all   entered   and  silence  is 
reestablished, 

CREON 

without  rising;  in  an  even,  clear,  quiet  voice 
Children  of  Cadmus  —  Thebans  —  Citizens  — 
My  people! — Hear  me  for  your  own  concern! 
And  rest  assured  I  treat  to-night  with  you 
No  less  a  matter  than  the  commonwealth. 
Yet  I  beseech  you  to  be  patient  with  me 
Also  for  some  small  business  of  my  own  — 
Some  phrases  of  a  life's  apology 
That  I've  matured  with  life  itself  for  you, 
And  now  at  last  have  ordered  and  prepared  — 
Briefly,  at  least,  and  cheerfully! — to  suit 
Your  understanding — and  my  own  as  well! 

A  moment's  pause. 

I  am  your  King;  and  I  am  old — and  wise! 
For  wisdom — when  the  latter  end  of  life 
Becomes  indeed  a  luminous  and  large 
Tranquillity,  as  of  some  afternoon 
Of  Autumn  and  calm  weather  by  the  sea — 

Inures  at  last  —  after  so  many  years ! 

At  least  there  is  a  fine  unfettered  sense 
Of  liberality  which  leads  me  on 
[    18    ] 


SECOND  SCENE 

To  say  that  I  am  wise  —  and  you  will  judge 
And  disapprove  me  if  you  must !  You  may 
Believe  me  that  I  know  what  must  be  done 
While  there  is  hope  and  Fortune's  face  is  toward; 
And  I  can  now  afford  your  censure !  Yes, 
I  can  afford  at  last  expensive  things 
Which  cost  a  man  the  kingdoms  of  the  world 
And  all  their  glory !  I  have  lived  my  life ; 
And  there  is  nothing  now  can  make  it  worth 
My  while  to  shirk  by  any  cant  or  creed, 
Enthusiasm  or  expectancy, 
Silence  or  sentiment,  the  free,  extreme 
Analysis,  the  unrelenting,  clear, 
Calm  vision  of  a  disenchanted  mind. 
You  cannot  bribe  me  now  by  any  threat 
Of  ruin  to  my  life's  high  edifice, 
Or  any  dazzled  prospect  of  ambition  — 
Hope  or  desire  that  it  may  one  day  grow 
Statelier  and  all  my  dreams  come  true  of  it !  — 
To  keep  the  old,  pathetic,  pitiable 
Conspiracy  of  silence  and  pretence 
That  barely  saves  the  faith  on  which  you  build ! 
I  know  that  you  must  build  while  there  is  hope 
Of  profit,  while  the  Bride  is  beautiful, 
While  Fortune's  prize,  in  whatsoever  coin 
The  world  receives,  inflames  you  to  the  task; 
And  while  you  build  you  cannot  help  but  say 
Your  architecture  is  the  noblest  art  — 
[    19    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  only  art  that  life  can  labour  at! 

You  see  the  torch  of  life  held  high  and  bright 

Over  my  disillusion,  and  your  hearts 

Are  sad  for  me — but  I  rejoice  with  you ! 

For  I  have  built  —  and  care  not  very  much 

What  happens !  I  am  patient  of  all  fools 

Who  leave  the  why  unasked ;  and  I  am  mild 

With  knaves,  who  teach  the  bawdy,  blatant  beast 

Pious  and  pleasant  ways,  —  for  I  am  old 

And  unimpassioned  and  contemplative. 

I  think,  despite  these  sceptical  strange  words, 

You  will  respect  me,  —  for  I  am  your  King, 

And  I  have  proved  myself  among  you  all 

An  architect.   Therefore  you  will  not  say, 

"This  is  the  voice  of  failure!" — yet  I  know 

That  you  will  find  some  other  things  to  say 

Not  half  so  true !  For  when  a  man  is  old, 

He  knows,  at  least,  how  utterly  himself 

Has  failed !  But  say  what  things  of  me  you  will — 

And  be  assured  I  sympathize !  Indeed, 

A  voice  like  mine  is  no-wise  terrible, 

As  might  be  the  tremendous  voice  of  truth, 

Should  it  find  speech  that  you  could  understand ! 

Yet  it  may  vex  and  dreadfully  distress 

Reflective  men  —  if  such  indeed  there  be 

Among  you  all  — and  therefore  be  assured 

I  sympathize! 

A  moment's  pause. 
[    20    ] 


SECOND  SCENE 

And  so  I  give  you  thanks 

And  take  my  leave.   I  think  you  almost  guess 
The  public  business  which  is  your  concern — 
And  mine,  since  I  concern  the  state  and  you. 
Briefly  't  is  mete  that  I  advise  you  of  it : 
I  am  your  King  —  and  will  be  so  no  more! 
Take  leave  of  me,  my  people !  for  at  last 
I  have  divined  a  man  more  apt  than  I 
To  wage  your  wars  and  guide  your  policies. — 

A  moment's  pause.   The  King  rises.  All  those  seated  at 
table  follow  his  example. 

To  him,  Children  of  Cadmus,  O  my  people, 
I  yield  your  government,  as  I  bequeath, 
When  I  am  dead,  my  crown  and  realm  to  him ! 
His  praise  is  in  your  hearts ;  and  by  my  will, 
And  with  your  leave  and  loving  welcome,  he 
Shall  be  your  Lord  and  govern  in  my  place, 
Who  slew  Erginus  and  delivered  Thebes  — 
My  grandsons'  father  and  in  love  my  son  — 
Herakles ! 

The  HERALD 
Hail !  All  hail  to  Herakles ! 

A  storm  of  enthusiasm  breaks  out  among  the  people. 
When  it  has  subsided  and  quiet  is  restored,  all  eyes 
turn  to  HERAKLES.  A  moment  of  silence.  Then 
he  begins  to  speak,  finding  his  words  with  excitement 
and  difficulty. 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

Children  of  Cadmus !  —  You  have  heard  the  King  — 
You  know  his  will  —  but  mine  you  shall  not  know 

Till  all  is  known  and  there  is  Justice  in  me! 

Justice — and  Truth! Nothing  is  yet  resolved  — 

Nothing! And  who  can  tell  what  Truth  shall  be? 

The  adventurer  departs ;  the  tidal  drift 
Clutches  his  keel;  his  eyes  are  dazed  and  dark; 
Strange  are  his  dreams ;  —  and  the  discovery 

Is  f ar ! But  should  I  find  myself,  be  sure 

That  I  will  be  a  guide  unto  you  all ! 

A  moment's  pause. 

I'll  say  no  more! — Nothing  is  yet  resolved 

A  moment  of  silence.  At  last  the  people  applaud.  Then, 
at  a  sign  from  the  King,  the  doors  are  again  thrown 
open  and  the  citizens  pass  out.  The  King  remains 
standing  after  they  are  gone.  MEGARA,  ALC- 
MENA,  AMPHITRYON,  IOLAUS  and  the 
other  guests  at  the  feast  surround  HERAKLES, 
pouring  forth  congratulations  and  applause.  HER 
AKLES,  deeply  moved,  withdraws  violently  from 
the  embraces  of  his  family  and  the  acclamations  of 
his  friends  and,  turning  toward  the  King,  breaks 
silence  with  profound  passion. 

HERAKLES 

Is  this  your  wisdom,  Sire  ?  and  is  it  wise, 
Lightly,  and  thus  with  calm  complacency, 


SECOND  SCENE 

Now  to  believe  that  I,  that  Herakles 
Should  hold  himself  so  cheaply  as  your  price  ? 
How  have  you  come  to  think  me,  whom  you  love 
And  praise,  so  vain  a  thing  and  spiritless, 
That  I,  like  any  rash,  rapacious  man, 
Should  seize  this  brief  preferment  and  renown 
And  block  with  brilliant  insufficiencies 
The  fair-way  of  ambition  ?  —  By  the  Gods, 
How  pitiable  a  thing  is  man's  regard ! 
Since  you,  who  count  yourself  matured  in  truth, 
Can  guess  no  nobler  destiny  for  man 
Than  all  his  life  to  be  as  you  have  been, 
Public  and  proud,  constrained  and  crafty-wise, 
As  fortune  served  and  chance  was  bountiful: — 
Himself,  the  while,  illiberal  and  unknown, 
Captive  and  undelivered  and  deceived ! 

Turning  to  the  others 

And  you !  I  marvel  who  it  is  you  name, 
With  tears  and  praise  and  passion,  Herakles ! 
By  God !  What  gives  you  leave  to  think  of  me 
So  meanly,  and  rejoice  to  see  me  sold 
Like  any  common  man  for  a  small  thing  ? 
Have  I  not  loved  you  all,  incessantly 
Loved  you  and  lived  with  you? — yet  in  despite 
Of  all  love's  witness  and  the  test  of  time 
You  dare  to  hold  me  in  so  little  honour 
That  you  have  thought  me  apt  to  be  content 
[    23    ] 


HERAKLES 

In  these  safe  human  mediocrities — 

That  you  have  deemed  my  hope  so  temperate, 

For  what  I  am,  as  fortune  and  renown 

Or  all  the  world's  casual  supremacies ! 

For  my  whole  life  long,  with  my  whole  heart's  love, 

I  have  been  with  you — and  you  have  not  known  me! 

ALCMENA 

What  ails  you,  child  ? My  child !  I  love  you,  know 

you  — 
You  are  my  son ! 

HERAKLES 
My  self  is  yet  unborn, 
Which  was  not  when  your  womb  conceived  and  bore ! 

AMPHITRYON 

What  rage  is  this  ?  Implore  the  King's  forgiveness ! 
Pray  to  the  Gods  who  have  shown  favour  to  you ! 

HERAKLES 

turning  to  the  King 
Sire,  I  will  not  serve  the  Gods  or  you ! 
Sire,  I  will  not  rule  by  grace  of  God 
Or  by  your  grace !  I  will  be  Lord  of  none, 
And  thus  unto  myself  be  Lord  and  Law! — 

No  longer  speaking  directly  to  the  King 
You  think  to  bribe  and  browbeat  Herakles, 
[    24    ] 


SECOND  SCENE 

Force  his  desire  and  cheat  his  hope: — at  last 

Learn  from  my  lips  that  I  will  not  be  less 

In  hope  or  longing  than  a  man  must  be ! 

I,  with  the  soul's  immortal  thirst  to  slake, 

How  shall  I  down  into  the  shallow  stream 

Where  beasts  and  many  men  have  drunk  together 

And  left  foul  waters  strangled  in  their  course? 

Nay,  by  this  cup  I  am  not  comforted, 

I  am  not  stayed !  —  Rather,  I  swear  to  you 

Thirst  shall  consume  me  unappeased  until 

I  fill  my  pitcher  at  the  living  source, 

The  secret,  spiritual  springs  that  rise, 

Radiant  and  crystalline  in  the  deep  light, 

Far  on  the  utmost  heights  unvisited ! 

You  know  me  not  —  and  scarce  have  I  begun 

To  know  myself !  Yet  this  at  least  I  know : 

The  life-lust  and  the  florid  animal 

Which  laughs  and  longs,  is  pleasured  and  distressed  — 

The  heart  that  feels  and  feigns,  that  faints  and  dreams, 

That  sorrows  and  is  glad  —  the  facile  brain 

That  schemes  and  lies  and  is  alert  to  seize 

Success  and  is  ambitious  of  no  more 

Than  serviceable  ingenuity 

Can  aptly  compass  —  that  supremely  serves 

To  methodize  the  waste  of  the  world's  work 

To  profitable  order  and  endow 

Life's  labour  with  a  seeming  worth  and  end  — 

These  are  not  I! 

[    25    ] 


HERAKLES 

CREON 

Your  pardon !  —  and  be  sure 
I  have  no  angered  heart  nor  outraged  pride 
To  vex  you  with! — I  pray  you  answer  me 
One  idle  question :  —  after  all,  what  else 
Is  there  of  you  save  life  and  heart  and  brain  ? 
You  are  what  feels  and  thinks  and  is.  What  else 
Is  Herakles  ?  —  are  you  ? 

HERAKLES 

I  am  what  knows ! 
I  am  myself,  that  knows — and  shall  be  known !. . . 


End  of  the  Second  Scene. 


THIRD  SCENE 


Later  of  the  same  night  as  in  the  first  two  scenes.  It  is  a  clear, 
calm  night  of  moon  and  stars.  A  public  street  near  the  city 
wall.  At  regular  intervals  the  wall  is  rendered  accessible  by 
flights  of  narrow  stone  steps.  The  inner  face  of  the  wall  is 
in  a  deep  shadow  which  stretches  out  almost  to  the  street. 

HERAKLES  appears,  emerging  from  the  shadow,  as  he 
climbs  the  nearest  flight  of  steps.  He  reaches  the  top  of  the 
wall  and  pauses  a  moment  in  silence. 


THIRD  SCENE 

HERAKLES 

I  know  them  now but  me  they  shall  not  know, 

Even  at  last !  My  youth  was  spent  with  them ; 
They  were  my  most  familiar  and  my  friends  — 

My  lovers  and  the  lights  of  welcome  to  me 

Yet  they  discerned  me  not,  they  knew  not  me ! 

And  never  shall  they  know  what  I  become ! 
Death  is  between  us  now:  my  youth  is  dead, 

And  I  am  dying ! and  I  shall  be  reborn 

Beyond  their  understanding  and  their  love 

Even  now  I  was  a  very  stranger  to  them ! 
How  shall  it  be  when  all  myself  has  been 

Is  passed  away  and  I  am  born  again  ? 

I  dare  not  yet  believe  how  utterly 

I  shall  be  loveless  then  —  even  when  love  is 

A  better  thing  to  give,  and,  to  receive, 

A  more  exalted  thing ! Then  I  shall  know, 

And  be  unknown ;  I  shall  be  friendless  then 
However  I  am  heart-sick  and  alone !  — 
O  tender  twilights  of  the  days  gone  by, 
Peopled  with  those  we  loved  and  leave  behind !  — 
O  secret,  great  departures,  shared  by  none, 
Cheered  by  no  friendly  voices  from  the  shore, 
No  lamps  set  seaward  for  the  ship's  return !  — 
[    29    ] 


HERAKLES 

0  irremediable  solitude 

Of  him  who  sails,  adrift  and  harbourless, 
Far  out  into  the  distance  and  the  dawn !  — 
Speak  to  my  heart  —  when  shall  my  lover  come  ? 
Where  is  my  friend  ?  and  how  shall  I  be  known  ? 

And  who  shall  know  me  ? When  the  Child  is  born, 

The  desolate  immortal  Child,  I  know 
That  in  the  night  of  his  tremendous  birth, 
And  in  the  dreadful  solitude,  he  wails 
And  wonders  and  is  no-wise  comforted ! 
Shall  none  receive  the  Child  ?  Am  I  at  once 
The  knower  and  the  known  ?  Is  there  no  light 
From  soul  to  soul,  no  love  from  heart  to  heart 
Can  span  the  abyss  and  flame  across  the  cold, 
Dark,  dreadful  spaces  of  my  isolation  ? 

1  need  assurance,  now  since  love  has  failed 
So  far,  and  life  has  so  far  failed  to  prove 
Myself  or  make  me  manifest  to  men. 

Who  shall  assure  me  and  bear  witness  to  me  ? 
Whence  shall  the  signal  —  as  from  star  to  star 
Rings  the  clear  cry  of  the  celestial  choir  — 
Sound  thro'  the  tragic  taciturnities 

Of  solitude,  to  me  ? to  me  at  last !  — 

Love  to  the  Lover,  welcome  to  the  Friend, 

Raptures  of  recognition  to  the  Lord ! 

HERAKLES  pauses  a  moment;  then  turns  and  slowly 
goes  back  down  the  steps  by  which  he  ascended.   As 
he  descends  he  becomes  gradually  engulfed  in  the 
[    30    ] 


THIRD  SCENE 

deep  shadow.  Before  he  reaches  the  ground,  the  POET 
and  the  WOMAN  appear  ascending  to  the  wall  by 
another  flight  of  steps,  some  distance  away.  They 
reach  the  top  and  pause  a  moment  gazing  over  the 
landscape.  When  at  last  they  begin  to  speak,  the 
sound  of  their  voices  causes  HERAKLES  to  stop  ; 
and  he  continues  to  stand  attentive  and  stirless  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall. 

The  POET 

Where  is  Endymion  ?  The  moon  replies, 

Hence  is  my  lover ! and  the  heart  cries,  Hence ! 

And  hence  the  soul  discerns  the  perfect  friend ! 

They  lure  us  hence,  the  patient  hills  and  fields ; 
The  streams  persuade  us  hence  —  hence  to  the  sea, 
Where  as  of  old  the  mythos  of  the  life 
Of  man  enacts  its  endless  destiny, 

And  vast  horizons  indicate  the  soul ! 

Hence  is  the  furtherance  of  hope  — 

The  WOMAN 

The  song 

You  lately  sang  cries  to  the  spirit,  Hence ! 
Sing  me  the  song  again,  for  I  would  learn 
The  words  and  have  it  in  my  heart  alway. 

The  POET 

I  made  it  on  a  day  of  happiness, 
And  I  am  glad  to-night  —  of  life,  and  you, 
[    31    ] 


HERAKLES 

He  sings. 
He  is  on  the  road  before  us,  who  is  Lord  and  Life  and 

Lover, 
He  is  forward  in  the  fair- way,  he  is  secret,  swift  and 

far; 
And  our  eyes  shall  wake  to  find  him  and  our  hungry 

hearts  discover, 

As  he  leads  us,  where  we  follow ;  as  he  loves  us,  what 
we  are! 

Where  the  winds  are  shouting  seaward,  where  the  sea 

is  streaming  onward, 
Where  the  Voice  calls  down  to  find  us,  fearless  on  the 

starlit  way, 
We  who  watch  shall  make  the  land-fall  as  the  ship 

drives  shoreward,  sunward, 

Where  the  mountains  rise  resplendent,  rose-wreathed 
in  the  dawn  of  day ! 

There  his  heart  shall  be  our  father-house,  his  arms 

receive  and  hold  us ;  — 
As  he  knows  us  we  are  equal ;  as  he  trusts  us  we  are 

free! 
We  shall  learn  surpassing  secrets  that  no  lips  but  his 

have  told  us, 

We  shall  find  in  his  embrace  ourselves  transformed 
to  more  than  we! 

[    32    ] 


THIRD  SCENE 

And  thereafter  in  his  house  shall  he  alone  be  Lord  and 

Master ; 
Life  shall  yield  to  his  dominion ;  they  shall  serve  who 

once  were  proud ; 
We  shall  go  with  him  together  up  the  pathway  fast  and 

faster ; 

We  shall  see  the  stars  surround  us  as  his  eyes  dissolve 
the  cloud ! 

We  shall  see  the  skies  stand  open;  we  shall  hear  the 

stars  in  chorus; 
From  the  shining  peaks  of  thought  his  voice  shall 

answer,  pure  and  high; 
And  the  spacious  gates  of  light  shall  stand  asunder  full 

before  us ; 

And,  as  all  alone  we  enter,  we  shall  know  the  Lord 
is  I! 

The  WOMAN 

How  mystic,  mad  and  possible  it  seems, 
How  like  a  clearance  of  life's  tangled  skein, 
To  dream,  to  say,  to  sing,  "I  am  the  Lord!" 
Poet !  you  know  me  better  than  myself 

The  POET 
My  poems  are  made  of  more  than  all  I  know 

A  moment  of  silence. 
[    33    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  WOMAN 
Shall  we  go  farther  on  ?  —  no  matter  where, 

So  we  go  on 

The  POET 

How  the  heart  melts  with  song! 

How  the  brain  reels  in  the  storm-wind  of  thought ! 

Come,  let  us  go !  The  light  is  there 

The  POET  and  the  WOMAN  turn  and  go  down  the 
wall,  away  from  the  spot  where  HERAKLES  is 
standing.  The  two  figures  seem  to  disappear  in  the 
distance. 

HERAKLES 

emerging  from  the  shadow  into  the  moonlit  street 

The  light!  — 
There  where  my  dreams  discern  an  excellence 

Unrealized,  which  I  am — whither  I  go! 

I  have  but  matched  the  beast  with  other  beasts, 
The  man  with  other  men ;  and  when  my  strength, 
Impatient  and  unused,  challenged  me  on, 
I  have  but  guessed  that  haply,  with  the  Gods 
At  strife,  God  was  within  me,  to  defy 
Their  curse  and  prove  their  equal  and  prevail ! 
Now  let  me  learn  to  say,  I  am  the  Lord ! 
Since  in  the  forward  vistas  of  my  hope, 
There  is  the  Lord,  the  Saviour  —  there  am  I ! 
For  thus  I  am  assured  my  end  is  not 
Where  the  world  ends  and  humble  hopes  go  home ; 
Where  men  are  crowned  and  beasts  are  satiated !  — 
[    34    ] 


THIRD  SCENE 

Too  well  I  know  that  I  contain  them  all  — 
The  serpent,  wolf  and  jackal,  ape  and  cur, 
Lion  and  hog :  —  of  old  the  beasts  are  laired 
In  life's  primeval  wilderness,  the  dark, 

Trackless  and  devil-haunted  waste  within  me ! 

Yet,  in  the  mind's  rapt  outlook,  I  discern 

That  in  the  jungle  is  the  Householder, 

Whose  patient  labour  has  made  room  and  home 

And  let  the  light  into  his  dwelling-place ! 

Now,  while  he  sleeps,  it  may  be,  in  his  stead 

Garrulous  ghosts  and  fauns  infest  the  gloom 

And  in  his  name  accomplish  shameful  deeds, 

Shallow  and  eloquent  sincerities, 

Profession  of  all  faiths  that  falsify, 

And  threadbare  fashions  of  a  masquerade — 

While  from  the  teeming  dark  they  snarl  and  whine, 

Chatter  and  roar  and  laugh,  gibber  and  grin 

With  greedy  eyes  and  fangs  —  the  beasts,  the  beasts 

Who  harbour  where  his  realm  is  unreclaimed! 

Yet  I  believe  he  shall  not  sleep  alway ! 

Nay,  he  shall  wake  and  witness  —  and  suspect 

Himself  is  otherwise  than  all  of  these! 

O  he  shall  stake  his  life  upon  that  vision ! 
And  he  shall  wonderfully  at  last  contrive 
To  bring  the  outlawed  beasts  into  dominion 
And  hold  them  captive  —  having  levelled  down 
The  dark  recesses  where  they  crouched  untamed ! 
He  shall  dispel  the  spectres,  and  return 
[    35    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  jungle  to  a  fruitful  harvest-field !  — 

And  then — O  then,  after  the  victory, 

He  shall  go  forth  in  power  and  look  abroad 

Over  the  spacious  acres  of  the  soul, 

All  drowned  in  azure  and  tranquillity, 

Where,  all  bearing  his  harness  and  subdued, 

The  mighty  beasts  labour  and  drive  afar 

The  ploughshare  of  his  will,  and  spread  the  seed, 

And  reap  the  harvest  —  and"  proclaim  the  Lord 

In  word  and  deed,  and  celebrate  the  Lord ! 

Then  shall  he  know  the  Lord  is  I !   and  feel 
That  ecstasy  of  knowledge  which  is  truth, 
Which  is  religion,  which  is  self  and  soul ! 

The  voice  of  IOLAUS 
calling  in  the  near  distance 

Answer  me,  Lord ! Where  art  thou  ? Speak  to 

me ! 

IOLAUS  appears. 
Lord,  is  it  thou? 

HERAKLES 
He  said  —  the  Lord  is  I ! 


End  of  the  Third  Scene. 


FOURTH  SCENE 


Toward  midnight  of  the  same  night  as  in  the  first  three  scenes. 

Street  before  the  house  of  HERAKLES. 
MEGARA  and  the  THREE  SONS  OF  HERAKLES  are 

IK  the  house. 


FOURTH  SCENE 

The  voice  of  MEGARA 
low  and  sweet  from  within  the  house 

The  rose-wreathed  lattice  opens  wide, 

Beyond,  the  night  is  calm  and  deep ;  — 
My  little  doves  lie  fast  asleep 

Like  lilies  fallen  side  by  side. 

They  laid  them  down  at  evening; 

Their  eyes  were  clear  as  moonlit  dew ; 

Across  their  brows  the  sunset  threw 
The  golden  shadow  of  its  wing. 

HERAKLES  and  IOLAUS  enter  slowly.   They  pause 
and  listen. 

They  kissed  my  face,  with  tender  words ; 

Their  eyelids  closed  as  flowers  close; 

In  dreamless,  motionless  repose 
They  fell  asleep  like  tired  birds. 

HERAKLES 
lolaus 

IOLAUS 
Lord? 

[    39    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

So  Pyrrha  in  the  dark 

Sang  to  the  children  of  Deukalion 

So  long  as  there  is  life  it  shall  not  cease, 

It  shall  not  change,  this  tender  lullaby, 

This  ancient  minstrelsy  of  motherhood. 

Wherever  there  is  human  happiness 

Or  human  grief  or  life's  immortal  will, 

The  inviolate  serenities  of  night 

Shall  hear  the  woman  singing  to  her  sons, 

Her  little  doves  —  my  children,  lolaus ! 

Who  shall  be  men,  as  they  shall  wake  from  sleep, 

Radiant  in  the  morning,  and  the  might 

Of  manhood ! 

The  voice  of  MEGARA 

as  before 

My  children  sleep,  whose  lives  fulfil 
The  soul's  tranquillity  and  trust; 
While  clothed  in  life's  immortal  dust 
The  patient  earth  lies  dark  and  still. 

No  rumour  rises  from  the  street; 

The  stars  in  silence  dawn  and  die; 

The  moon  goes  up  the  violet  sky 
And  treads  the  sea  with  silver  feet; 

And  calm  as  inward  joy,  and  deep, 

Moonlight  and  starlight  flood  the  room 
[    40    ] 


FOURTH  SCENE 

Where  close  beside  me  in  the  gloom 
Softly  my  little  children  sleep. 

All  night  they  lie  against  my  breast 

And  sleep,  whose  dream  of  life  begins : 
Before  the  time  of  strife  and  sins, 

Of  tears  and  truth,  they  take  their  rest. 

HERAKLES 

They  take  their  rest ! lolaus !  lolaus ! 

What  of  the  soul  ?   Can  you  not  feel  —  as  I 
To-night  bore  witness  to  you  all  —  that  we, 
Who  seem  to  wake  in  the  large  light  of  life 
So  sensibly,  in  pure  reality 
Lie  in  the  shadow  of  sleep,  lie  prone  and  still 
On  the  parental  breast  of  life  like  children, 
And  take  our  rest  ? 

IOLAUS 

Yet  we  have  witness,  Lord, 

Who  have  so  wrought  in  the  substantial  world,  — 
Yet  we  have  witness  that  we  wake  indeed : 
Is  not  Erginus  slain,  Orchomenos 
Razed  and  enslaved,  and  Herakles  — 

HERAKLES 

Enough ! — 

Not  by  the  world's  coarse  manifest  I  am ! 
To  me  no  voice  but  mine  can  testify : 
[    41    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  violence  and  the  glare  of  deeds  and  things 

Report  me  in  no  wise :  —  myself  alone 

Proves  and  reveals  myself :  no  other  sign 

Is  there  at  all  of  me  save  only  I! 

Have  I  not  ceaselessly  been  here  and  there, 

Come  hither  and  gone  hence,  ambitiously 

And  humanly  lived  out  my  works  and  days  ? 

Have  I  not  gone  abroad  seeking  the  soul 

In  vast  and  various  venture,  and  returned 

Weary  and  without  wisdom  after  all  ? 

"When  have  I  known  myself,  who  know  the  world  ? 

When  have  I  felt,  in  trial  or  victory, 

The  choir,  the  torch,  the  festival  of  truth 

Gladden  the  soul's  inviolate  dwelling-place  ? 

Now  am  I  no  more  eager  of  many  things; 

Neither  am  I  much  curious  of  proof, 

Save  as  some  still  conviction,  secretly 

Wakes  in  the  inmost  mind  and  justifies 

New  lights,  new  values,  new  coherencies, 

New  strengths  and  virtues  up  the  endless  scale. 

For  well  I  know  how  anciently  and  long 

The  massive  Sphinx  has  stood  as  now  it  stands, 

A  veiled,  portentous  shape  of  shadow  and  silence, 

Against  the  nightfall  in  the  mind's  dark  highway; 

And  well  I  know  that,  anciently  as  now, 

To  the  inscrutable  mystery  of  being 

There  is  no  voice  shall  answer  save  the  clear 

Silences  singing  in  the  awakened  soul ! 

[    42    ] 


FOURTH  SCENE 

IOLAUS 

There  is  no  voice  shall  answer ! Is  there  more 

Of  man's  inheritance  than  all  we  know  ? 
Are  we  not  merely  men  who  labour  and  live 
In  the  plain  light,  in  the  gross  world ;  who  rest 
By  night;  who  fall  asleep  at  last  in  death; 
Who  feel,  invincibly,  darkly  over  us, 
The  harsh  dominion  of  the  inconstant  Gods  ? 

HERAKLES 

Nay !  We  are  adepts  of  a  mystery ! 

The  secret  is  at  hand — how  shall  we  sleep? 
We  are  as  men  in  awful  expectation 
Before  the  threshold  of  a  sanctuary, — 
Whose  eyes  grow  sometimes  clear  in  the  long  vigil, 
Whose  hearts  grow  sometimes  mild,  till  they  dis 
cern 

The  glamour  of  a  glory  on  the  veil, 
The  murmur  of  a  music  thro'  the  portal  — 
The  secret,  incommunicable  signs 
Of  the  God's  radiant  presence  in  his  house ! 

The  voice  of  MEGARA 
as  before 

My  little  doves,  the  nest  is  warm  — 

Lie  close !  the  dawn  shall  come  too  soon. 
Sleep,  in  the  quiet  of  the  moon ! 

Sleep,  in  the  hollow  of  my  arm ! 
E    43    ] 


HERAKLES 

For  yesterday  is  all  we  are, 

To-morrow  all  we  yet  shall  be; 
The  end  is  where  no  eye  can  see 

We  only  know  the  way  is  far ! 

We  only  know  men  grow  and  grieve 

And  die And  death  is  strange  and  sore ! 

O  sleep,  my  darlings,  sleep! — before 

The  time  returns  to  wake  —  to  live ! 
A  moment  of  silence. 

HERAKLES 

The  ancient,  patient,  perfect  love  of  women! 

The  service  and  the  sacrifice  of  life 

To  life ! But  to  what  end  of  life  ? Her  voice 

Is  clear  and  quiet  as  moonlit  well-water 

In  a  vessel  of  shining  silver This  is  home ! 

A  moment  of  silence. 

IOLAUS 
Let  us  enter,  Lord. 

HERAKLES 

I  shall  not  sleep  to-night. 
I  know  not  how  it  is,  there  is  within  me 
To-night  a  stern,  unquiet  intensity, 
The  strangeness  of  a  secret  unrevealed  — 

Almost,  it  seems,  a  fear  of  what  I  am ! 

I  am  as  some  itinerant  by  night, 
[    44    ] 


FOURTH  SCENE 

Ignorant  of  his  purpose  and  his  path, 
Curious  of  both,  vigilant,  fearful,  fain, 

Sleepless  and  sightless  till  the  dawn  is  there! 

I  shall  not  stay  or  sleep.  No  more  to  me 

The  rash  and  resolute  activities 

Of  manhood  sound  to-night  their  martial  challenge 

Into  the  bright  arena  of  the  world. 

I  am  this  hour  inviolably  alone, 

And  like  a  stranger  in  my  solitude..... 

A  glitter  of  far  lights  is  in  my  brain, 

And  in  my  heart  something  that  is  not  hope, 

And  in  my  life  a  hushed  suspense To-night, 

Beyond  the  threshold  and  the  fire-light, 
Beyond  the  brief,  familiar  place  of  being, 
Held  by  the  narrow  candle-flame  of  life 
Against  the  invasive,  dark,  immense  unknown, 

I  am  abroad ! The  heart's  unrest  is  nameless 

And  absolute  the  mind's  uncertainties ! 
Ask  me  not  whither,  where  or  why  I  go : 
The  spacious  night  surrounds  me,  and  my  spirit 
Ranges  magnificently  unappeased ! 

IOLAUS 

Why  must  you  go  abroad  seeking  a  dream 
When  here  at  home  all  is  so  bountiful  ? 
Here  the  King's  daughter  croons  your  sons  asleep; 
Here  Creon  has  given  over  to  your  hands 
His  kingship  by  your  mighty  hands  secured ; 

[    45    ] 


HERAKLES 

Here  in  all  Greece  your  name  is  glorious,  x 
Your  deeds  extolled,  your  worth  proclaimed  in  praise ; — 
Here  your  estate  is  grown  so  high  and  splendid 
That  hardly  can  the  range  of  man's  ambition 
Compass  a  nobler  destiny  than  yours ! 

HERAKLES 

So  is  the  range  of  man's  ambition  brief 
And  scanted  of  his  true  divinity ! 

IOLAUS 
Why  is  your  speech  so  strange  to-night  ? 

HERAKLES 

'TisI 

Am  strange! And  now  I  think  my  heart  would 

break 

To  hear  her  sing  again,  to  feel  once  more 
The  tenderness  and  the  tranquillity 
And  sweetness  of  her  love,  —  the  delicate 
Freshness  of  life's  warm  wonder  in  my  house. 
Come,  let  us  go !  —  I  shall  not  rest  to-night. 

IOLAUS 
Where  shall  I  follow,  since  you  will  not  sleep  ? 

HERAKLES 

Let  us  go  down  into  the  human  city, 
lolaus,  where  men  and  women  with  their  sins 
[    46    ] 


FOURTH  SCENE 

Stray  in  the  festive  street;  where  harp-players 
And  harlots  and  young  men  sit  in  the  taverns, 
And  feel,  all  night  until  the  daybreak  stands 
Pale  and  relentless  in  the  waking  world, 
Life's  wanton  weed  grow  rankly  in  their  souls ! 
Let  us  go  down  into  the  human  city 
And  see  how  men  and  women  love  and  live, 
Whose  feet  go  forward  to  the  sepulchre, 
Whose  hearts  are  sick  with  tender  syllables 
Unspoken,  and  desires  unsatisfied, 

And  liberalities  no  heart  receives 

Let  us  go  down !  —  perchance  they  wait  us  there, 
The  meaning  and  the  sign !  —  let  us  go  down ! 


End  of  the  Fourth  Scene. 


FIFTH  SCENE 


Before  dawn  of  the  next  day.  A  street  before  a  tavern.  At  in 
tervals  is  heard  the  sound  of  music  and  voices  and  occa 
sional  bursts  of  laughter  from  within. 

HERAKLES  and  IOLAUS  enter. 


FIFTH  SCENE 

IOLAUS 

Now  nothing  more  is  left  to  seek  or  see. 
Let  us  return.   We  have  been  long  abroad; 
We  have  been  up  and  down  the  sleepless  city 

And  far  afield  from  where  is  happiness 

Let  us  return. 

HERAKLES 

Here's  still  a  last,  least  place 
Where  laughter  is,  where  there  is  light  and  wine 
And  song 

IOLAUS 

And  this  is  last,  of  all :  beyond, 
The  lampless  thoroughfare  goes  far  away 
Into  the  darkness,  past  the  city  wall. 
Here  we  are  come  to  the  road's  end.  The  earth 
Lies  out  beyond,  spacious  and  tranquil,  where 
The  moonlight,  like  the  nimbus  that  surrounds 
A  sage  in  meditation,  quietly 
And  vastly  and  serenely  luminous, 
Lies,  pale  as  dreams  are  pale,  over  the  world ! 

Laughter  is  heard  within  the  tavern.    Then  there  is  a 

moment  of  silence. 

[    51    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

Hark ! How  serene  is  silence ! How  austere !...., 

How  spacious ! And  how  small  and  sad  a  thing 

Is  laughter  —  and  how  sometimes  terrible ! 

There  is  no  rumour  save  the  sound  of  mirth 

When  souls  are  lost ! I  know  not  how  it  seems 

To  you,  but  I  believe  the  Minotaur 
Kept  out  of  sight  and  sound  like  a  good  fellow, 
And  there  was  laughter  in  the  labyrinth, 
And  it  was  pleasant  for  them  who  were  lost  — 
Lost  without  hope,  nor  any  vision  of  hope, 
Nor  any  faith  to  vex  them  with  ambition ! 

Hark! How   they  laugh  and   sing  and  take  no 

heed, 

The  boys,  the  panders,  and  the  singing-women, 
The  harlot  and  her  ruffian !  —  And  ourselves, 
lolaus,  ourselves,  who  keep  so  delicate, 
Who  live  so  chaste  and  private  —  who  are  we, 
Who  fill  with  rumour  as  of  a  festival 
The  public  precincts  of  the  House  of  Life  ?  — 
Who  vex  the  soul  with  gilt  caparisons 
And  go  in  power  and  pride  and  policy, 
Panders  to  profit  and  the  world's  applause, 
About  the  brilliant  business  of  the  world  ? 
Are  we  not  of  this  ribald  company, 
These  toilers  for  the  selfsame  prize  as  we, 
Only  of  less  profession  and  renown  — 
These  merrymakers  in  the  labyrinth, 
C    52    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

Who  singing  sit  beside  the  sallow  tapers, 
Derelict,  dispossessed,  delinquent,  —  dead  ? 
Why  so  we  are,  by  God !  —  king,  soldier,  priest, 
Cut-purse  and  prostitute  —  in  fact  the  same 
Poor  men  and  women,  all  of  us  —  so  kin, 

So  far  adrift,  so  dark,  so  solitary ! 

Then  let 's  within  and  claim  our  fellowship ! 
They  are  of  us  —  and  they  shall  not  be  denied ! 

IOLAUS 

Nay,  we  have  seen  to-night  too  much  of  this. 
Let  us  return !  The  street  and  the  night  end. 
Let  us  return  —  my  heart  is  sick  for  home ! 


HERAKLES 

O  we  are  very  far  from  where  is  home 
To  that  within  us  which  is  comfortless — ~ 
The  heart  that  is  not  patient  of  our  thrift; 
The  soul  that  is  not  pleasured  as  we  are 
In  safe,  substantial  mediocrity! 
To-night,  in  street  and  tavern,  anxiously, 
Like  children  fatherless  and  dispossessed, 
We  were  come  out  to  seek  our  heritage; 
We  were  come  out  to  seek  for  more  than  all 
Our  lives  have  variously  informed  us  of, 
And  more  than  all  we  know !  —  What  rest  is  there, 
Or  where  shall  we  go  home,  who  have  not  found 
Ourselves  or  what  is  ours  ?  Whither  away 
[    53    ] 


HERAKLES 

And  in  what  casement  stands  the  lamp  for  us 
Who  drift  as  might  a  helmless  derelict, 
Errant  with  wind  and  tide  over  dark  seas  ? 
This  shall  we  hardly  learn  at  last  to  know ; 
And  hardly  shall  our  hearts  receive  the  sign, 
Our  eyes  find  fire  along  the  forward  way, 
Till  that  reprieve  of  freedom,  peace  and  power 
When  we  have  saved  the  grain  and  strawed  the  chaff 
With  a  most  jealous  fan  throughout  the  ripe 

Acreage  of  the  spirit's  harvest-field ! 

Truly  I  am  not  now  as  once  I  was, 
Replete,  exultant,  proved,  resistless,  proud, 
When  all  the  Sons  of  Cadmus  hailed  me  victor! 
Rather  my  joy  is  quelled  of  all  my  deeds; 

For  worth  is  of  myself,  and  I  have  none 

Yet  do  they  rate  me  by  no  means,  whose  choice 
And  crown  proclaim  me  Lord !  It  well  may  be 
You  doubt  me.   True,  I  know  not  what  it  means  — 

And  all  is  doubt ! Yet  there  is  born  within  me 

To-night  a  sense  of  outcast  solitude, 
The  darkness  of  a  flame-rent  thunder-cloud, 
And  peril  and  devastation  in  my  brain,  — 
While  in  my  heart,  like  devious,  distant  fire, 

The  thread  of  hope  leads  thro'  the  labyrinth ! 

What  is  the  whole  of  life  —  when  dreams  come  true ; 
When  faith  is  realized ;  when  the  mind  unlocks 
The  treasure-house  of  truth ;  when,  loosed  and  winged, 
Ambition  ceases  of  itself  to  be 
[    54    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

So  gross,  so  measured,  so  commensurate 
With  possible  and  perishable  things  ? 

The  voice  of  the  WOMAN 

singing  in  the  tavern 
I  know  not  why  we  drink  and  feast 
Unless  it  be  to  make  us  laugh, 
Who  waste  the  grain  and  store  the  chaff, 
Who  starve  the  God  and  glut  the  beast ! 

Yet  know  I  not  how  wine  can  make, 
Of  all  sad  things,  a  woman  smile; 
For  what  is  wine  to  so  beguile 

The  heart  that  bleeds  and  will  not  break  ? 

I  know  but  this  —  we  cannot  bear 

The  truth  that  laughter  hides  so  well ! . . . 
And  all  the  damned  dead  souls  in  Hell 

Scream  with  eternal  laughter  there! 

A  rumour  of  voices  in  the  tavern. 

IOLAUS 
Poor  wanton  wretch !  —  God  pity  her ! 

HERAKLES 

Not  so ! 

Bravely  she  sings  her  heart  out,  and  in  tune, 
And  strictly  to  the  measure  of  its  truth, 
t    55    ] 


HERAKLES 

She  knows  the  cost  of  some  things  —  and  their  worth ! 

And  briefly  she  has  made  a  song  of  how 

Her  life  is  bankrupt  for  some  scraps  of  tinsel. 

No  God  is  wise  enough  to  pity  her, 

Nor  sad  enough !  Her  tragedy  is  yours 

And  mine ;  —  O  verily  this  alone  is  all 

Life's  tragedy,  that  in  the  strict  account 

Of  truth  we  find  —  whose  lives  were  cheaply  sold 

At  the  world's  price  in  chaplet,  coin  or  crown  — 

Such  meagre  profit,  such  tremendous  loss ! 

And  be  assured  it  is  not  pitiable 

To  sing  one's  heart  out,  as  she  sings,  of  it : 

Bravely,  and  not  too  sadly  —  and  in  tune ! 

The  rumour  of  voices  is  renewed  in  the  tavern.    Then 
silence.  A  pause. 

The  voice  of  the  POET 
singing  in  the  tavern 
I  know  not  what  it  is  appears 

To  us  so  worth  the  tragic  task :  — 

I  know  beneath  his  ribald  masque 

Man's  sightless  face  is  grey  with  tears ! 

I  know  not  why  it  is  we  dread 

To  lie  in  death's  embrace,  alone :  — 
I  know  that  he  receives  a  stone 

Who  asks  with  all  his  love  for  bread ! 
[    56    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

I  know  not  how,  I  know  not  why 

We  save  the  hope  that  naught  fulfils :  — 
I  know  that  life  constrains  and  kills 

The  dying  soul  that  will  not  die ! 

The  rumour  of  voices  breaks  out  in  the  tavern,  louder 
than  before. 

HERAKLES 

Hearken ! and  hear  the  voice  of  human  woe, 

Crying  aloud  and  crude  and  comfortless ! 

Hark,  from  the  cheated  and  distempered  mind, 

This  harsh  and  ancient  outburst  of  despair 

Proclaim  we  are  all  perdurable  men 

And  perjured  souls  and  hearts  that  still  conserve 

A  pitiable  efficiency  of  pain ! 

Then  question  of  yourself,  and  you  shall  find 

His  voice  is  mine  and  yours  —  if  we  could  sing ! 

In  each  of  us  the  serpent  of  despair 

Sleeps  —  or   is   roused    and    strikes    his    poisoned 

fangs 

Deep  in  the  heart  and  brain,  till  one  must  die, 
The  serpent  or  the  soul,  —  unless  we  charm 
Serpent  and  soul  with  song !   For  song  alone 
Makes  tolerable  to  us  the  acrid  lees, 
When  time  and  truth  have  trod  life's  wine-press 

out, 

Which,  undiluted,  in  thought's  crystal  cup, 
Are  of  too  cogent  anguish  to  the  soul. 
[    57    ] 


HERAKLES 

He  charms  who  is  not  strong  enough  to  slay ! 

He  sings  who  is  not  brave  enough  to  know, 

And  in  himself  feel  truth  exemplified ! 

Thus,  I  believe,  the  tragic  poet  sings 

Because  he  fails  to  do  a  better  thing : 

Up  from  the  ruins  of  his  failure  starts 

The  phcenix-bird  of  song :  —  he  knows  the  while 

How  far  aloft  God's  eagle  eyes  the  sun! 

Had  we  the  will,  the  strength,  the  hardihood 
To  let  the  light  inform  us  utterly, 
And  so  transfuse  and  interchange  with  all 
Gross  elements  that  we  were  born  again, 
Perfect  and  true ;  —  had  we  the  stern  resolve 
And  power  and  passion  of  our  sacred  cause 
To  bear  the  pangs  of  childbirth  to  the  end, 
And  die  to  live ;  —  in  such  comparison 

What  were  a  life's  magnificence  of  song  ? 

God  is  within  the  soul  —  and  who  has  been 
A  little  toward  Him,  sings !  There  is  no  more 

To  do  for  one  who  leaves  the  best  undone 

The  poet  wakes,  indeed,  —  but  merely  sings ! 
Yet  therefore  is  he  more  than  other  men ; 
For  they  come  hardly  into  wakefulness, 
And  briefly,  and  in  terror  and  great  pain, 

Soon  to  relapse,  latent  and  lost  in  sleep 

Are  we  not  all,  in  silence  and  alone, 

Sepulchred  living  under  dreams  and  dust  ? 

And  if  at  last  we  dreadfully  revive, 
[    58    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

Straitened  and  gagged  in  death's  caparisons, 

Within  the  unspeakable  solitude  and  dense 

Silence  and  brutal  blackness  of  the  grave, 

'T  is  but  to  glimpse  the  shining  star  of  hope 

With  false  persuasion  of  transcendent  joy  — 

And  then,  as  faith's  uplifted  face  dislimns, 

To  die  immobile  in  the  narrow  night, 

Our  hearts  constricted  with  a  frenzied  fear 

Of  death's  deceit,  —  with  life's  supreme  appeal ! 

The  poet  sings  —  and  lives !  And  I  believe, 

Should  one  audacious  rebel  —  even  the  soul's 

Champion  —  who  was  not  eased  with  poems,  essay 

His  strength  against  the  terror  and  the  tomb, 

It  might  be  they  should  wonderfully  yield ! 

Yea !  till  he  went  his  way  from  us,  —  perchance 

To  prove  the  Saviour  of  us,  on  his  way ! 

A  rumour  of  voices  ;  then  loud  applause  in  the  tavern. 

A  chorus  of  MEN  and  WOMEN 

singing  in  the  tavern 
Dionysos ! 

God  begot  thee,  woman  bore  thee, 
Dionysos!  Now  before  thee 
Dance  the  Maenads  who  adore  thee, 
WTio  are  of  thy  fellowship ! 
Every  heart  is  frenzied  for  thee, 
Dionysos !   every  lip 
Glisters  with  the  wine  we  pour  thee, 
[    59    ] 


HERAKLES 

Crimson  as  the  sacred  stain 
When  the  sacrifice  is  slain  — 
Dionysos ! 

Wild  laughter  and  applause  within  the  tavern. 

IOLAUS 

Let  us  go  hence,  go  hence!  Behold,  the  night 
Grows  pale  and  passive  as  a  sick  man's  face 
At  daybreak  as  he  lies  asleep.   It  dawns. 
The  livid  light  comes  down  the  dreadful  street 
Timidly  as  a  tired  vagrant  child, 
And  stands  between  us  here  before  the  tavern, 
Naked  and  shivering  in  its  threadbare  dress. 

HERAKLES 

When  shall  it  be  that  somewhere  in  the  soul, 
Beyond  our  life's  horizons,  dark  with  dreams, 
The  Child  of  Light  shall  rise  from  sleep  and  stand 

Radiantly  in  the  silent  place  of  peace  ? 

When  shall  it  be  that  he  shall  venture  down 
The  strange,  remote,  dark  thoroughfares  of  thought, 
And  stand  with  shining  feet  before  the  tavern, 
Where  all  night  long  his  servants  brawl  and  feast, 

In  pale  and  passionless  severity  ? 

When  shall  it  be  his  presence  shall  eclipse 
The  flickering,  brief,  clandestine  candle-light 

That  lust  has  kindled  in  the  House  of  Life  ? 

When  shall  he  enter  by  the  dolorous  door 
[    60    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

Of  love  and  faith,  where  death  at  last  comes  in, 
And  bind  the  slaves  by  his  resistless  will, 
Who  made  his  house  a  place  of  harlotry 
And  lies  and  lamentations  and  vain  deeds 

And  vice  and  violence  and  vociferation  ? 

When  shall  he  rise  from  sleep  and  go  abroad  ? 

We  know  not  when  —  yet  surely  they  shall  know 

Who  keep  his  vigil!  And,  within  that  hour. 

At  last  the  slaves'  ignoble  revelry, 

Their  spectral  humours  and  hilarities 

Shall    shudder    and    be    still !  —  and   they   shall 

learn 

How  little  is  the  Lord  indeed  from  home! 
And  men  shall  witness  and  the  Gods  shall  know 
That  he  is  risen  —  the  grave  and  gracious  Lord 
Is  risen,  and  on  his  way!  And  they  shall  see 
His  light  go  forward,  and  about  his  feet 
The  flowers  of  spiritual  trust  and  truth 
Wake  in  the  silent  meadows  deep  in  dusk 
Beside  the  stream-course  of  the  spirit's  life! 
And  they  shall  hear  his  voice,  serene  as  stars, 
Strengthen    to    song,   like  scattered    birds    who 

wake 

Crying  in  wet  tree-twilights,  as  with  hands 
Lustrous  and  loving  he  dilates  the  gloom 
With  muffled  splendour;  while,  superbly  winged, 
The  deep-eyed  virtues  of  the  soul's  perfection 

Rise  like  essential  perfumes,  sweet  and  strong ! 

[    61    ] 


HERAKL^S 

The  voice  of  the  POET 
singing  in  the  tavern 

Her  eyes  were  dark  as  violet ; 

Her  face  was  white  as  sunburnt  sand 

Because  we  could  not  understand, 

Love  turned  and  left  us,  hand  in  hand  — 

Her  lips  surrendered,  red  and  wet! 

I  saw  in  the  dishevelled  dress 

Only  her  pale,  abandoned  loveliness ! 

The  voice  of  the  WOMAN 
singing  in  the  tavern 

He  laid  his  brows  against  my  breast; 
He  kissed  my  breast  with  lips  of  flame ; 
His  voice  made  music  of  my  name; 
And  in  the  sunless  house  of  shame 
Between  his  arms  he  held  me  pressed !  — 
He  knew  not  what  it  was  to  me, 
Or  what  to  him,  thereafter,  love  might  be ! 

The  voice  of  the  POET 

as  before 

I  felt  her  heart  beat  hard  and  high; 
I  saw  her  eyes  grow  blurred  and  blind ;  — 

There  came  a  mist  across  my  mind 

Her  hair  fell  round  me  soft  as  wind 

And  lustrous  as  a  moonlit  sky 

For  pleasure  of  her  was  my  breath 
Broken,  as  one  who  labours  near  to  death ! . 
[    62    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

The  voice  of  the  WOMAN 

as  before 

The  desolation ;  the  despair ; 
The  hope;  the  love;  the  will  to  be 
Spendthrift  of  the  heart's  treasury; 
The  soul's  inviolate  chastity 
Were  all  of  me  he  could  not  share ! 
He  asked  no  more  of  love  than  this; 
He  gave  no  better  than  a  harlot's  kiss ! 

The  voice  of  the  POET 

as  before 

I  held  her  all  the  dumb  night  long, 
And  still  at  daybreak  she  was  there, 
When,  groping  thro'  the  dark,  dense  air, 
The  dawn's  chill  fingers  touched  her  bare 

Pale  body,  clear  and  smooth  as  song ! 

The  stealthy  light  fell,  grey  as  dust, 
Silently  in  the  sordid  place  of  lust ! 

The  voice  of  the  WOMAN 
as  before 

Love  cannot  enter  by  the  door 
Where  lust  comes  fierce  and  florid  in ! 
They  play  no  game  that  love  can  win, 
Who  stake  the  outlawed  coins  of  sin, — 
Yet  love  can  lose  one  heart  the  more ! 
For  truth  lies  deep  beneath  the  lie; 
And  Death  has  digged  no  grave  where  souls  can  die ! 
[    63    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  voice  o)  the  POET 
as  before 

And  silently  I  went  my  way ; 

The  heart  within  me  wailed  and  wept! 

I  would  have  kissed  her  as  she  slept  — 
And  dared  not !  Like  a  thief  I  crept 

Scared  and  alone  into  the  day 

And  Love  walked  on  with  bleeding  feet, 
Heart-sick  beside  me  in  the  dreadful  street ! 

The  voice  of  the  WOMAN 
as  before 

Quenched  is  the  flame  in  us  whereof 
Love's  sacred  lamp  is  lit;  and  we 
Are  captives  as  damned  souls  must  be; 
And  hence  from  Hell  shall  none  go  free 
Whose  lives  have  lost  the  key  of  love !  — 
Who  neither  asked  nor  sought  nor  knocked, 
To  them  alone  Truth 's  treasure-house  is  locked ! 

A  confused  tumult  of  voices  in  the  tavern,  which  gradu 
ally  subsides  until  at  last  there  is  silence. 

IOLAUS 

On  broken  heartstrings  is  their  music  made ! 

To  hear  them  laugh  and  sing  I  half  believe, 

As  you  declare,  that  laughter  broke  their  hearts 

And  they  have  fashioned  of  all  shattered  things 
The  phrase  of  an  incomparable  grief, 

[    64    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

And  called  it  song  —  which  is  indeed  a  cry 
Something  more  strangely  sad  than  any  tears. 

0  come  with  me  to  the  still  house  of  joy !  — 
There  is  a  sorrow  in  the  vacant  street, 

And  even  the  light  is  like  a  lamentation 

He  pauses.  HERAKLES  neither  speaks  nor  stirs. 

My  heart  is  sad  and  strange  —  let  us  return ! 
There  is  a  kind  of  judgment  in  the  light  — 
Something  austere  and  chaste  and  pitiless, 

Dealing  impartial  justice  to  us  all 

Let  us  return  —  for  God's  sake  let  us  go ! 

1  can  no  longer  bear  to  hear  them  sing ! 

HERAKLES 

Hark  —  there  is  silence !  Hark  —  and  you  shall  hear, 
Vast  and  inviolate,  while  they  seem  to  sing, 
The  inveterate  silence  of  the  sepulchre  — 
Where  he  is  lying  inert  as  dead  men  lie, 
Who  is  the  deathless  holy  spirit  of  man  — 
Massively  overwhelm  their  melody ! 
There  is  a  sound,  a  semblance  as  of  song, 

A  quiver  of  rhythmic  motion  in  the  air 

But  then  and  still  thereafter  there  is  silence, 
Strictly  distinguished  to  the  inward  ear. 
Hark  —  and  your  soul  shall  hear  it  as  I  do ! 
They  sing  not  —  neither  can  they  sing  at  all, 
Who  are  as  we  in  bondage  to  this  world ! 
[    65    ] 


HERAKLES 

Their  music  is  a  shallow  counterfeit, 
The  unsubstantial  echo  of  a  voice; — 
Not  the  phrased  splendour  of  essential  song 
Rumoured  along  the  surface  of  the  soul's 

Deep  seas  of  elemental  harmony ! 

Hearken  within  yourself!  Hearken  within, 

And  hear  how  still,  how  gaunt  and  dumb  it  is ! 

O  there  is  silence,  silence  in  us  all ! 

We  are  some  handfuls  of  gross  clay  assembled, 

Wherein  there  is  a  tremor  and  a  tone, 

A  pitiable  vibration  which  is  song 

As  men  rate  song  in  their  discordant  lives 

And  far  within  is  silence !  —  Otherwise, 

Otherwise  is  the  full  free  voice  of  man, 

The  one  true  voice,  our  own  voice !  —  when  there  is 

No  silence  by  the  altar  any  more; 

When  there,  in  strength  and  in  tranquillity, 

The  hieratic,  consecrated  soul 

Intones  its  canticle  of  self -reprieve, 

And  all  its  powers  and  liberties  proclaim 

The  chaunt  of  the  divine  awakening ! 

The  tavern  door  opens.  A  little  crowd  of  men  and 
women  stumble  noisily  into  the  street.  Among  them 
are  the  POET  and  the  WOMAN.  They  all  pause 
uncertainly,  staring  vaguely  about  them. 

A  MAN 

Here's  the  damned  daylight  back  again 

[    66    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

A  HARLOT 

God's  name, 
How  cold  it  is! 

The  POET 
As  chill  and  chaste  as  death ! 

A  MAN 

Let's  go  back!  There's  no  hospitality 
And  nothing  comfortable  in  all  this  world 
Save,  there  within,  the  wine  and  candle-light. 

The  POET 

Save  drunkenness  and  dark !  —  Is  there  not  death  ? 
Poor  ghost !  Poor  tomb-dweller !  — Is  there  not  death  ? 

A  MAN 

I  would  to  God  there  were  death  —  for  all  poets ! 
And  silence  for  all  singers,  save  of  some 
Small  mirthful  songs  of  bawdry  and  pleasant  things 

A  HARLOT 
Truth  is,  Stranger,  your  songs  are  keen  as  pain. 

A  MAN 

His  songs  are  serious  —  and  most  damnable ! 
Wine  brings  susceptibility  —  and  dawn 's 
A  desperate  hour,  when  a  mere  song's  grief 
May  tragically  rouse  the  heart  to  tears 

And  vain  misgivings 

[    67    ] 


HERAKLES 

A  HARLOT 
As  for  me,  I  love 

To  weep  when  there  is  music.   Give  me  songs 
Of  noble  sentiment.  Tears  ease  the  heart  — 

A  MAN 

No  tearful  wench  for  me,  nor  tearful  song ! 
Poets  and  whining  women  —  damn  such  fools ! 
Gay  hearts,  gay  women,  gay  good-fellowship, 
Wine  and  gay  music  —  so  a  man  is  pleased ! 

The  POET 
Eyes  of  the  deathless  Gods,  look  down,  look  down ! 

Behold  this  tragic  masque  of  marionettes ! 

And  laugh  because  we  weep,  and  laugh  the  more 
Because  we  laugh  —  and  lie,  and  dare  not  live 
In  the  confession  of  reality ! 

A  MAN 

Damn  you,  be  silent !  and  deliver  us 
Of  all  your  tedious  solemnities! 
Already  you  have  robbed  the  night  of  mirth, 
And  now,  despite  the  wine,  nothing  is  left 
But  daylight  and  despondency 

The  WOMAN 

In  truth 

I'll  not  believe  a  poet  could  so  far 
Vex  and  subdue  your  wanton  hearts  with  words. 
[    68    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

Are  you  not  men  of  business  and  affairs, 
Hard  men  of  worldly  practice  and  the  world  ? 
And  he's  —  merely  a  voice!  and  such  a  voice 
As  you  shall  hardly  hear  or  understand ! 
Nay,  lads,  I'll  not  believe  you're  out  of  tune 
With  laughter  for  a  song's  worth  of  strange  words ! 
Even  a  poor  wench  can  laugh !  —  The  end  of  mirth 
Comes  only  when  the  cheerless  heart  is  cracked 
And  the  frail  spark  of  life  flutters  and  fails ! 

The  POET 

Comes  only  when  we  learn  there  is  more  hope 

Than  life  can  give ;  more  truth  than  words  can  say ! 

A  HARLOT 

Enough!  It's  bitter  cold  here  in  the  dawn, 
And  I'll  no  longer  wait  and  freeze  and  tire 
To  hear  you  snarl  and  curse  at  one  another !  — 
Let 'sail  to  bed! 

A  MAN 
The  wench  is  right  —  let's  go ! 

They  all  start  off  and  move,  in  a  straggling  group, 
toward  HERAKLES  and  IOLAUS,  whose  forms 
are  hardly  distinguishable  in  the  grey  twilight.  Sud 
denly  one  of  the  women  halts. 

A  HARLOT 

There  are  strangers  here  —  yonder ! 
[    69    ] 


HERAKLES 

A  MAN 

Two  men 

Calling 

Who's  there? 

HERAKLES  takes  a  step  forward.    A  moment  of 
silence. 

A  MAN 

Your  pardon ! If  a  man  may  question  you, 

My  Lord,  and  since  we  chance  to  meet  —  who  are  you  ? 

A  moment  of  silence.    HERAKLES  scans  the  faces 
before  him  almost  anxiously. 

HERAKLES 

I  am  a  man  who  seeks  —  and  has  not  found ; 
Who  asks  —  and  is  not  answered ;  who  has  knocked  — 
Yet  none  has  opened  to  him  the  secret  door. 
Do  you  bring  news  —  and  welcome — and  the  alms? 

The  WOMAN  separates  herself  from  the  group  and 
draws  nearer  to  HERAKLES. 

A  HARLOT 

What  says  he  ? 

A  MAN 

I  can  hardly  tell 

A  MAN 

He  seems 
In  some  delusion  — 

[    70    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

The  POET 

Then  perhaps  he's  drunk!  — 
Are  we  not  all  at  dawn  a  little  drunk  ? 

The  WOMAN 
Be  still! 

The  POET 

What  now  ?  Why  do  you  stare  and  stare  ? 

I  say  his  wine  has  been  to  many  a  man 

Persuasion  of  delirious  things  and  words, 

And  specious  dreams  of  what  It 's  all  about 

The  WOMAN 
Be  still !  Look  in  his  eyes !..... 

The  POET 
to  HERAKLES 

Your  pardon,  Sir ! 
The  wench  has  drunk  her  share  — 

He  turns  to  the  WOMAN.  The  sight  of  her  thrills  and 
startles  him.  His  whole  mood  and  manner  change.  He 
draws  close  to  her  and  speaks  to  her  alone. 

Tell  me  the  news: 
Is  it  the  Secret  ?  —  Speak ! 

The  WOMAN 
speaking  as  tho9  entranced 

There  is  within 

[    71    ] 


HERAKLES 

His  eyes  a  candid  infancy  of  light  — 

A  birth  of  splendour  —  and  a  mystery! 

A  vigil  —  and  a  voice !  —  the  light  that  leads, 

Convinces  and  absolves  —  like  sunlight!  Far, 

Far  in  his  eyes  it  dawns ! I  seem  to  see 

So  far  within  —  so  far !  His  eyes  are  like 

Some  sudden  window,  opening  in  the  night 

Thence  may  the  soul  stare  skyward  — to  the  stars! 
Look  in  his  eyes,  if  you  have  will  to  see! 
All  other  eyes  of  men  are  closed  and  dark. 
Look  in  his  eyes!  — O,  God's  within,  I  know! 

There,  in  the  utmost  distance,  there  is  God! 

There  is  the  light  of  God,  splendid  and  strange!.... 

HERAKLES 

with  passion 
Are  you  the  herald  and  the  messenger  ? 

The  POET 
Herald  of  hope  and  messenger  of  news! 

HERAKLES 

heedless  of  all  save  the  WOMAN 
Is  there  indeed  light  in  the  window  —  light 
To  prove  the  Lord  is  in  his  house  and  wakes, 
Who  has  slept  overlong  ?  You  say  the  light 
Is  lit,  the  sign  is  there  to  show  he  wakes       , 
At  last  —  and  feels  across  his  solemn  brows 


FIFTH  SCENE 

The  rose- winged  wind  of  venture  and  vast  skies, 
And  in  the  chamber  where  he  darkly  slept, 
Gradual  and  pale,  the  calm,  sane  light  of  dawn? 

The  WOMAN 
Yours  is  the  sign !  You  are  the  light ! 

HERAKLES 

At  last! 

How  I  have  sought  you !  O  is  it  you  indeed  ? 
And  do  you  bring  me  news  at  last  and  welcome — 
News  of  myself  and  welcome  to  the  Lord  ? 
O  can  I  rest  assured  that  even  now 
The  Lord  wakes  in  his  chamber  silently, 
And  like  a  stranger  and  athirst  for  love, 

And  all  aflame  to  know  and  to  be  known  ? 

Know  you  indeed  the  Lord  ?  and  is  he  there, 
The  one  true  perfect  friend,  who  is  most  friendless;  — 
The  matchless  lover,  whose  love  none  receives, 
And  who  is  loved  of  none  ?  Look  in  my  eyes ! 
Tell  me  the  light  is  there  —  that  I  am  He ! 

The  WOMAN 
...  .You  are  the  strength,  the  light,  the  life,  —  the 

Lord! 
What  shall  I  do  that  I  may  love  you  ? 

The  POET 

Speak! 

Have  you  the  strength  ?  Have  you  the  light — the  life  ? 
[    73    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

speaking  to  the  WOMAN  alone 
Only  believe  and  all  shall  yet  be  well ! 
Love  and  believe!  I  have  no  more  than  faith 
To  guide  me,  and  no  more  to  comfort  me 
Than  love,  —  and  mine  is  still  the  greater  need ! 
Mine  is  the  greater  need,  for  mine,  at  last, 
Mine  is  the  greater  strength!  The  strength  is  there - 
The  secret  strength  I  almost  fear  to  feel ! 
Measureless  is  the  strength  and  merciless  — 
And  like  a  child  whose  eyes  are  vague  with  sleep, 
Haunted  with  dreams  and  dazed  with  real  light ;  — 
Whose  mind,  with  dark  pre-natal  memories, 
Is  still  perplexed,  and  hardly  yet  evolved 
From  ancient  error  and  the  brutal  grasp 
Of  fear,  force,  falsehood,  destiny,  and  death;  — 
Who  is  not  yet  self -realized,  self-assured, 
Conscious  and  calm  in  thought,  in  aim,  in  will. 
Yet,  as  I  must  believe,  do  you  believe, 
And  all  shall  come  to  pass,  and  all  be  well! 

The  WOMAN 

I  love  and  I  believe !  I  see  the  light ; 
I  feel  the  strength  that  will  not  stay  or  spare; 
I  know  the  Lord ;  I  know  that  he  shall  come 
To  bring  me  the  good  news ! 

HERAKLES 

O  be  assured 
[    74    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

Of  victory !  I  love  you !  I  shall  come 
Again  to  you Be  faithful  till  I  come! 

A  MAN 
What  do  they  say? 

A  HARLOT 

He  bids  her  "Be  thou  faithful 
Until  I  come!" 

All  laugh  except  HERAKLES,  the  WOMAN,  and 
the  POET,  who  remain  thrilled,  startled,  and  ab 
sorbed. 

The  POET 

I  scarce  believe  —  and  yet 
He  spoke  as  one  having  authority, 
Having  the  truth's  commandment  clear  as  light 
And  blind  as  light  and  undissuadable ;  — 
Being  in  strength  creative  as  a  God ! 
How  shall  I  know  ? 

The  WOMAN 
conscious  only  of  HERAKLES 

You  will  not  leave  me — now? 

HERAKLES 
I  leave  with  you  one  who  is  more  than  I  — 

Even  the  soul — even  the  Spirit  of  Truth! 

He  shall  be  with  you  always  to  the  end, 
Who  is  the  guide,  the  way,  the  comforter ! 
[    75    ] 


HERAKLES 

I  may  not  rest :  I  love  you  and  must  go. 
He  shall  bear  witness  in  my  stead.   At  last 
I  shall  return :  —  and  let  there  be  a  light, 
His  light  undimmed  to  guide  me  to  his  house! 
Be  faithful  —  lest  he  fall  again  on  sleep ! 

The  WOMAN 

I  cannot  leave  you !  Lord,  I  will  not  stay 
Where  you  are  not!  —  You  are  the  way,  the  life; 
You  are  the  truth! 

HERAKLES 

I  shall  perchance  be  true 

At  last  and  perfect ! Now,  there  is  within  me 

Labour  and  violence,  ruin  and  redemption. 
My  soul  is  an  invaded  citadel, 
A  precinct  where  contending  armies  wait, 
Fierce    and    resolved,  —  the   death-grip    is  still   to 
ward  ! 

And  if  I  win  at  all  it  shall  be  hard ! 

This  very  hour  all  is  in  jeopardy: — 

The  dark  whirls  in  my  vision  even  now ; 

And  like  the  rumour  of  resurgent  tides 

I  hear  the  ancient  curse  of  error  cry 

Up  well-worn  estuaries  of  the  shaken  mind ! 

Suddenly  voices  are  heard  crying  in  the  distance,  and  a 
confused  rumour  as  of  some  great  commotion  in  the 
city. 

[    76    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

IOLAUS 

Lord ! —  do  you  hear  ?    Some  mischief  is  afoot ! 
The  city  cries  as  with  a  single  voice! — 

What  can  it  be  ?  Some  great  event  has  chanced 

I'll  find  the  cause  of  this  and  come  again. 

IOLAUS  hastens  away. 

HERAKLES 

What  great  event  concerns  me  save  the  soul  ? 

And  none  cry  in  the  Agora  because 

The  soul  of  man  at  last  comes  to  its  own ! 

Again  from  the  city  rises  a  vast  rumour  of  voices. 

Hark ! In  my  heart  I  hear  then-  cries  resound ! 

They  are  my  soldiers  and  my  people!  Hark! 

There  in  this  hour  my  plumed  battalions  wait 
Their  leader,  and  my  citizens  their  King. 
They  know  not  and  they  will  not  understand 
Whither  away  I  am  gone  on  so  far 

Without  them, — I,  who  shall  not  now  return! 

The  die  is  cast,  and,  come  what  may,  I  take 
The  bounty  of  ambitious  destinies 
To  be  my  birthright,  nor  shall  Gods  or  men 
Force  and  delude  me  from  my  utmost  goal ! 

Again  is  heard  the  voice  of  a  distant  multitude. 

The  POET 
How  they  cry  out  upon  us,  —  all  the  world ! 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

Crying  in  vain !  —  O  let  me  stay  no  more ! 

For  still  my  heart,  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  world 
My  world  of  youth  and  conquest  and  renown  — 
Crying  upon  me,  suffers  and  is  not  strong, 
As  the  great  heart  of  perfect  love  must  be ! 
O,  lest  the  good  great  moment,  lest  the  vision, 
Lest  the  redemption,  now  at  last  begun, 
Suffer  some  wrong  by  reason  of  the  heart's 
Weakness  and  all  my  life's  remembered  joys, 
Let  me  go  forth  away  from  them,  away 
From  all  that  was  and  is,  to  what  shall  be  — 
Which,  in  this  primal  morning  of  the  soul, 
Thro*  widening  gateways  of  deliverance, 
With  endless  promise  cheers  the  forward  way!.... 

The  WOMAN 

Suffer  me,  and  constrain  me  not  to  be 
Without  you !  There  is  place  for  me  to  follow 
Where  you  may  go 

HERAKLES 

There  are  no  followers 
Nor  captains  on  the  soul's  eternal  quest ! 

The  POET 

Yet,  if  the  torch  go  forward  in  your  hand, 
Shall  not  its  splendour  serve  to  guide  us  on  ? 
[    78    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

Well  may  we  question,  who  have  sought  so  long, 
"Where  you  will  go  and  whither  is  the  way. 

HERAKLES 

Mine  is  my  way  and  yours  must  be  your  own. 
Ask  me  no  more,  nor  wonder  if  my  words 
Are  strict  and  stern  — 

The  POET 

I  know  the  truth  is  hard, 
Neither  compassionate  of  any  grief 
Or  hope  or  weakness  or  imperfect  joys. 
But  to  that  soul  which  bears  the  truth,  in  chief, 
Truth  is  relentless!  And  I  say  to  you 
That  if  you  have  not  now  already  paid 
Abundantly  the  incalculable  cost, 
Then  you  shall  pay  even  to  the  uttermost ! 

HERAKLES 
What  is  the  price  of  truth  ? 

The  POET 

What  is  the  truth  ?- 
There  is  the  question ! 

HERAKLES 

He  shall  answer  it, 

And  only  he  who  earns  the  right  to  say, 
[    79    ] 


HERAKLES 

"I  am  the  Truth!"  —  for  he  alone  is  true. 
I  stand  in  the  beginning,  and  the  way 
Is  hardly  to  be  seen  before  my  feet, 
Which  they  must  tread  wherever  it  may  go ! 
Ask  me  no  questions,  therefore,  of  the  end. 

The  WOMAN 

I  am  not  curious,  and  I  have  no  thought 
Of  mercy,  and  I  have  no  other  way 
Than  your  way,  Lord ! 


HERAKLES 

O  sacred  human  heart! 
Come  with  me  if  you  will,  as  best  you  may. 
You  are  my  witness  how  the  sepulchre 
Was  rent  and  in  his  shroud  the  Sleeper  stirred; 
And  how  the  prison  door  stood  wide  ajar 
While  momently,  at  least,  lay  out  in  light 
The  prospect  of  the  soul's  prosperities !  — 
You  are  my  witness,  and  my  heart  wills  well 
That  you,  O  Heart  of  faith !  should  share  with  me 
Truth's  gospel  and  the  soul's  new  testament ;  — 
Till,  at  the  last,  the  Sleeper's  dreams  are  done, 
And  he  is  waked  and  risen  and  on  his  way! 

IOLAUS  appears,  coming  in  great  haste. 

IOLAUS 

Lord !  Lord ! I  bring  you  news  — 

[    80    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

. 

HERAKLES 

Who  brings  me  news 

Is  welcome,  if  his  news  be  news  indeed !  — 
You  all  who  have  been  with  me  in  this  hour, 
You  know  how  rashly  I  am  hazarded, 
As  yet  with  no  least  knowledge  of  the  way, 
Into  the  free,  far  spaces  of  the  soul ! 
I  go  because  the  wind  is  in  my  sails  — 
But  chartless,  helmless,  on  a  shadowed  sea;  — 
And  haply  I  shall  find  the  fabulous 
Fair  Paradise  of  truth,  and  hand  in  hand 

With  the  grave  Gods  walk  perfectly  at  last! 

And  haply  I  may  shipwreck  on  the  shores 

Of  circumstance  and  dark  necessities! 

Only  the  strength  within  me  is  assured,  — 

The  strength  of  Herakles!  All  else  is  doubt 

And  O  my  spirit  is  fain  of  news! 

IOLAUS 

The  King 

Demands  your  presence  in  the  Agora. 

A  MAN 
to  his  companions 

The  King  ? He  said  the  King ! 

A  HARLOT 

in  an  awed  voice 

What  man  is  this  ? 
[    81    1 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

The  King  ?  —  No  public  cares  concern  me  now. 
What  will  the  King  with  me  ? 

IOLAUS 

I  know  but  this : 

An  embassy  comes  hither  from  Eurystheus, 
Sovereign  of  Argos.   Heedless  of  the  King, 
They  will  not  speak  at  his  command ;  instead 
They  say  their  message  is  alone  for  you. 

HERAKLES 

Go  on  before  me,  I  will  shortly  come; 
Leave  me,  for  I  have  need  to  be  alone. 

The  WOMAN 

Lord 

HERAKLES 

For  a  little,  leave  me.    I  will  come. 
This  much  is  certain,  that  I  will  be  free! 
And  therefore  I  will  come  to  bid  farewell 
To  rank  and  power  and  every  servitude. 
I  will  not  heed  the  cost  of  what  may  bring 
Deliverance.  Leave  me !  I  will  shortly  come  — 

And  find  you  there  where  the  world  waits  for  me ! 

After  a  moment  of  hesitation  they  all  depart :  the  POET 
first,  then  the  WOMAN  and  IOLAUS  ;  lastly  the 
little  crowd  from  the  tavern.  As  these  last  are  leaving 
they  pause  a  moment  to  look  at  HERAKLES. 
[    82    ] 


FIFTH  SCENE 

A  MAN 

My  Lord,  forgive  me  if  I  question  you  — 
What  is  your  name  ? 

HERAKLES 
Men  call  me  Herakles. 

The  men  and  women  depart,  leaving  HERAKLES 
alone. 


End  of  the  Fifth  Scene. 


SIXTH  SCENE 


This  scene  immediately  follows  the  preceding  in  time.    The  sun 

is  only  just  risen. 

Thebes.   Before  the  house  of  HERAKLES. 
MEGARA  stands  upon  the  threshold  of  the  open  door. 


SIXTH  SCENE 

MEGARA 

The  golden  wings  of  light  beat  up  the  sky ; 

The  stars  are  set;  the  dew-fall  and  the  dawn 

Are  everywhere,  quiet  as  benediction; 

The  earth's  fresh  perfumes,  like  an  incense,  rise 

Into  the  windless,  universal  air; 

And  even  the  old,  blank  city  ways  are  still 

And  flushed  like  pathways  in  love's  paradise  — 

It  is  morning !  —  and  my  lover  is  not  come ! 

A  pause.  MEGARA  sings. 

She  waited  in  the  bride-chamber; 

Her  face  was  young  and  clear  as  light; 

Her  lips  were  sensuous  and  bright ;  — 
The  Bridegroom  came  not  unto  her. 

She  kept  fresh  flowers  in  the  room; 

Her  eyes  were  spacious  as  the  sea; 

And  thro'  the  open  casement  she 
Kept  vigil  till  her  Lord  should  come. 

She  saw  the  stars  go  up  the  sky; 

The  sunlight  and  the  moonlight  were 
[    87    ] 


HERAKLES 

Like  crowns  and  chaplets  in  her  hair ;  — 
She  would  not  break  her  faith  to  die. 


She  set  a  signal  in  the  day; 

She  set  a  beacon  in  the  night; 

The  guarded  flame  of  love  burned  white 
And  single  in  her  heart  alway. 

She  waited  in  the  bride-chamber : 

Her  hair  was  soft  as  sleep;  her  breast 
Was  tranquil,  like  a  place  of  rest 

The  Bridegroom  came  not  unto  her. 

"His  heart,"  she  said,  "is  here  at  home; 

"His  love,  I  know,  abides  with  me; 

"And  he  would  choose  his  bride  to  be 
"Prepared  and  perfect  should  he  come." 

She  waited  in  the  lonely  years ; 

The  bride-chamber  was  all  her  room; 

She  dreamed  not  of  another  doom; 
She  had  no  thought  or  time  for  tears. 

And  when  the  Bridegroom  came  at  last 

And  found  his  Bride  serene  and  strong, 
He  said,  "Beloved,  I  tarried  long, 
"But  now  despair  and  doubt  are  passed." 
[    88    ] 


SIXTH  SCENE 

She  said,  "  I  know  not  what  you  mean ; 
"I  have  no  part  with  suffering 
"  Or  grief  or  fear ;  a  better  thing 
"  Life  cannot  be  than  mine  has  been ! 

"  For  I  have  lived  with  Truth  and  Love, 
"And  all  my  life  was  beautiful 
"And  strong  and  fortunate  and  full 

"And  great  and  good  and  glad  thereof!" 

A  pause. 

Friendless  he  seemed  —  inimical  and  strange 
And  splendid,  when  his  angered  strength  cast  down 
The  diadem  and  scorned  the  pride  of  kings ! 
Yet  wherefore  were  his  rapture  and  his  rage  ? 
Why  was  he  so  tremendous  and  estranged 
And  resolute  last  night  against  us  all  ? 

Where  is  he  now  —  and  when  shall  he  return 

My  heart  is  like  a  place  of  desolation, 
And  like  a  lost  child  in  a  woful  place; 
The  jealous  depths  of  love  are  calm  no  more, 

After  last  night,  but  shaken  and  dismayed 

I  would  to  God  he  were  come  home  to  me ! 

She  pauses  to  gaze  about  her  and  then  returns  slowly 
into  the  house.  A  moment  after,  HERAKLES 
appears. 

HERAKLES 

O  bland  and  tranquil  human  habitation, 
[    89    ] 


HERAKLES 

Fortunate  house  of  happiness  and  love, 
Where  love  is  life  and  life  is  love,  where  truth 
Is  very  tender  and  exquisite  as  song, 
And  where  the  meaning  of  the  Mystery 
Is  simply  and  ineffably  revealed!  — 

0  treasure-house  of  kind  and  serious  joys, 
Hushed,  holy  house  of  peace,  my  house,  my  home ! 

1  know  not  in  my  heart  what  nameless  fear 
Afflicts  me  as  mine  eyes  behold  you  now ! 
Is  it  perhaps  the  dread  that  hence  from  you 
Lies  the  new  promise  of  the  forward  way, 
And  hence  the  issue,  and  the  sunrise  hence? 
Yet,  in  the  clear  accounting  of  all  things, 

I  have  no  guess  what  voyage  of  the  soul 

Could  take  me  hence  from  you,  O  tranquil  house  !- 

O  mother  of  my  children,  O  my  sons,  — 

My  little  sons,  so  fair  and  young,  —  from  you ! 

Is  not  the  best  of  being  here  at  home  ?  — 

The  candour  and  the  loveliness  of  life; 

Beauty  and  innocence  of  days;  and  all 

The  wise,  warm,  ancient  virtues  of  the  heart, 

And  all  the  peace  of  the  prodigious  soul  ? 

O  Well-beloved,  the  whole  heart's  yield  of  flowers 

Perfumes  the  quiet  chambers  where  you  sleep ! 

My  love  is  with  you,  and  my  dearest  thought 
Is  of  you,  and  where  you  are  there  am  I 

In  spirit  and  in  love ! I  will  not  fear ! 

This  is  the  loveliest  and  most  bountiful 
[    90    ] 


SIXTH  SCENE 

Of  all  good  fortune  of  man's  mortal  life : 

Surely  it  shall  not  for  the  truth's  sake  pass 

Out  of  the  sum  of  real  prosperities! 

Rather  my  loved  ones  and  my  love  shall  share, 

Always  with  me  and  to  whatever  end, 

The  days  and  ways  of  the  enfranchised  soul ! 

A  moment's  pause.    Then  he  calls: 
Megara ! 

MEGARA  appears  in  the  doorway. 

MEGARA 
Herakles!— at  last!  at  last! 

She  runs  forward  to  greet  him. 
My  love  —  my  dear,  dear  love  —  at  last  come  home ! 

HERAKLES 
Is  not  my  whole  heart  always  here  at  home  ? 

MEGARA 

O  welcome,  welcome !  —  As  it  was  with  me 
When  I  first  loved  you,  so  it  is  to-day ! 
You  come  to  me  as  after  many  days, 

After  long,  anxious,  heart-sick  days  of  doubt 

My  heart  was  like  a  house  of  mourning :  now 
There  is  rejoicing  and  the  sound  of  song, 
The  light  of  festival !  —  The  Well-beloved 
Returns  at  last,  the  Bridegroom  is  at  hand ! 
[    91    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

0  come  into  my  arms !  I  seem  to  feel 

Beat  in  your  breast  the  strong  and  simple  heart, 
The  faithful  and  inveterate  heart  of  life, 
Which  animates  with  the  bright  blood  of  being 
The  diverse  fruit  of  earth's  vast  pregnancies! 

They  embrace.  A  slight  pause. 
Where  are  my  sons  ? 

MEGARA 

They  hardly  wake  from  sleep. 
One  called  you  in  the  night,  speaking  your  name. 

HERAKLES 

My  children ! And  my  Love !   O  Megara, 

Say  that  you  love  me  always  to  the  end ! 

MEGARA 

1  love  you  to  whatever  end  may  come, 
Ever  and  always  and  without  reprieve ! 

HERAKLES 

Then,  and  in  silence,  hear  me  to  the  last. 
I  know  how  little  truth  is  speakable; 
And  I  shall  hardly  find,  for  all  my  pains, 
Language  sufficient  to  express  the  soul ;  — 
Yet  it  may  be  your  love  shall  understand !  — 
Last  night  you  saw  me  and  you  heard  me  speak. 
[    92    ] 


SIXTH  SCENE 

Wonder  no  more  because  I  cast  away 
The  crown !  —  for  even  last  night  I  was  assured 
That  in  the  compass  of  the  soul's  ambition, 
In  the  resources  of  man's  utmost  strength, 
In  the  dim,  secret  treasure-house  of  thought, 
There  were  perfections  more  supreme,  desires 
More  absolute,  achievements  more  divine, 

Than  any  that  the  world  is  witness  of ! 

Then  did  I  blindly  wreak  my  inmost  will, 

And  had  no  understanding  of  my  deeds. 

But  in  the  dawn,  —  O,  in  the  morning,  —  then 

I  found  the  very  truth,  as  in  a  vision !  — 

The  light !  —  and  I  was  plainly  justified, 

And  perfectly;  for  this  is  truth's  first  lesson, 

And  easiest,  and  least  of  price,  —  that  all 

Business  and  pleasure  and  preferment,  fame 

And  government  and  grandeurs  of  this  world 

Are  but  the  toys  with  which  the  mind  of  man 

Beguiles  the  leisures  of  its  infancy. 

Who  knows  the  mind's  austere  maturities, 

The  heart's  full-grown  intensities ;  —  who  sees 

The  treasures  of  the  Spirit,  fabulous 

Beyond  imagination;  —  I  believe 

Naught  else,  to  him,  is  profitable  at  all  — 

No  triumphs,  glories,  kingdoms,  amplitudes 

Of  fortune,  pleasures,  majesties,  dominions ! 

I  am  but  newly  waked  into  the  light; 

My  way  begins,  —  my  way,  my  hope,  my  hazard. 


HERAKLES 

For  truly  I  have  found  myself  at  last, 
And  in  myself  a  promise  more  supreme 
And  an  inheritance  more  bountiful 

Than  thought  can  understand  or  faith  believe ! 

Self-mastered  to  some  purpose  more  than  mine, 
In  the  first  morning,  with  the  soul's  first-fruits 
I  come  to  you! — O  brave  wise  heart  of  love, 
Surely  you  shall  not  fear  to  share  with  me 
The  best,  hereafter,  and  the  best  alone : 
Love,  labour,  and  the  fierce  incertitudes! 

MEGARA 

Hardly  I  guess  the  meaning  of  your  words. 
And  well  it  may  be  that  in  spite  of  all 

I  shall  not  understand  even  at  last 

Yet  take  me  —  keep  me  —  lead  me  to  your  light ! 

My  sons  and  you  and  I,  —  we  are  one  life, 

One  love,  one  being, — naught  shall  make  us  twain! 

HERAKLES 

I  also  know  not  what  my  words  may  mean 

I  know  not  what  the  price  of  truth  may  be, 
Or  what  the  cost  of  man's  perfection  is 
To  man,  or  how  the  soul  is  satisfied. 
I  know  but  this :  that  ever  and  evermore 

I  shall  not  rest ! O  it  may  come  to  pass 

That  if  you  love  me  you  shall  die  of  it  — 
As  who  shall  not  before  the  Journey's  end  ? 
[    94    ] 


SIXTH  SCENE 

For  thus  we  die  to  live  perpetually ! 

And  even  it  well  may  be,  for  all  I  know, 
That  only  in  exceeding  bitter  sorrow 
Are  we  so  slain  and  sacrificed  and  saved !  — 
That  all  with  heavy  labour  and  cruel  cost 
The  soul  must  reap  in  life's  neglected  fields 
The  living  bread,  and  in  untended  vineyards 
Press  from  ripe  fruit  the  consecrated  wine, 
Which  are  its  livelihood.  Who  knows  how  hard 
The  truth's  divine  imperatives  shall  prove  ? 
Courage,  strong  heart !  Be  sure  there  is  no  more 
That  must  be  done  than  man  at  best  can  do ! 
And  if  you  find  yourself,  as  well  you  may, 
Best  in  the  strong  sublimity  of  love,  — 
O  then  come  with  me  to  the  perfect  end ! 

MEGARA 

What  have  I  else  in  all  my  life  to  do  ?  — 
Your  spirit  is  my  strength,  your  heart  my  refuge ! 

HERAKLES 

Megara ! O  it  may  be  we  shall  win, 

And  come  into  the  heritage !  At  least 
We  shall  go  on  in  the  fair-way  till  death, 
Serious  and  stedfast  and  supremely  one! 

The  SONS  OF  HERAKLES  appear  in  the  doorway 

of  the  house. 

[    95    ] 


HERAKLES 

MEGARA 
In  the  fair- way  till  death ! 

HERAKLES 

My  Love ! 

He  perceives  his  children,  who  issue  from  the  doorway. 

My  sons! 
HERAKLES  tenderly  embraces  the  children. 

A  MESSENGER  appears. 

The  MESSENGER 

Herakles !  —  Lord !  —  The  envoys  of  Eurystheus, 
Sovereign  of  Argos,  stand  before  the  King — 

HERAKLES 
Why  are  you  come  to  me  ? 

The  MESSENGER 

They  will  not  speak 

Their  master's  message  save  alone  to  you. 
Therefore  the  summons  of  the  King  is  sent 
To  bid  you  straightway  to  the  Agora. 

HERAKLES 

The  Agora ! Liberty  is  beyond ! 

Thro*  and  beyond  my  path  of  freedom  leads. 


SIXTH  SCENE 
He  turns  to  MEGARA  and  the  children. 

Come,  Well-beloved  —  let  us  go  down  together. 
For  they  must  take  farewell  of  the  rank  world 
Who  walk  their  own  ways  into  Paradise ! 


End  of  the  Sixth  Scene. 


SEVENTH  SCENE 


Early  morning.  The  beginning  of  this  scene  and  the  preceding 
scene  are  contemporaneous. 

Thebes.   The  Agora. 

In  the  Agora  are  CREON  and  ALCMENA,  seated  and  sur 
rounded  by  a  body  of  soldiers.  Immediately  before  the  King 
stands  AMPHITRYON;  at  some  distance  beyond  stand  the 
MESSENGERS  OF  EURYSTHEUS,  three  in  number. 
The  rest  of  the  Agora  is  filled  by  a  vast  concourse  of  people. 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

AMPHITRYON 

They  come  safe-guarded  as  Ambassadors, 
As  envoys  of  Eurystheus  —  to  my  son. 

ALCMENA 
To  Herakles 

AMPHITRYON 
With  insolence  and  pride 
They  dare  recall  our  kinship  and  proclaim 
Herakles  subject  of  the  Argive  King; 
Yet  sworn  to  silence  save  to  him  they  seek, 
By  no  persuasions  will  their  lips  disclose 
The  serious  purpose  of  their  embassage. 

AMPHITRYON  seats  himself  beside  the  King. 

CREON 

These  are  strange  tidings;  and  the  veil  that  masques 
The  face  of  destiny  seems  dark  indeed 

AMPHITRYON 

I  fear  their  silence  and  their  proud  reserve. 
What  can  their  message  be  to  Herakles  ? 

[  101  ] 


HERAKLES 

CREON 

What  to  their  message  shall  your  son  reply  ? 
Not  in  the  vulgar  press  of  circumstance 
Is  fate  concealed,  but  in  the  soul  of  man! 
And  we  have  seen,  last  night,  into  the  soul 
Of  Herakles  enough,  at  least,  to  make 
The  question  poignant  and  the  doubt  supreme ! 

ALCMENA 

Last  night ! I  thought  a  stranger  stood  before  me 

Clothed  in  the  likeness  of  my  son To-day 

I  dare  not  guess  what  dark  catastrophe 
The  Gods  prepare  to  try  his  secret  strength, 
To  thwart  his  undivined,  misguided  will ! 

CREON 

I  fear  no  secret  message,  nor  the  stroke 
Of  adverse  fortune,  nor  the  coward  heart 
Or  evil  purpose  of  Eurystheus'  hate, 
Nor  dark  catastrophe;  —  I  fear  the  man 
Who  struck  the  crown  of  kingship  from  his  brows 
And  gave  us  earnest  of  the  soul's  ambition ! 
Man  fashions  fate  after  his  own  design ; 
And  in  his  likeness,  as  a  mirror  is, 
The  face  of  life  is  featured  and  expressed ; 
And  he  deciphers  on  a  vacant  page 
His  sense,  his  story,  his  significance. 
Who  can  predict  what  Herakles  shall  see 

[    102    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

When  he  lays  bare  the  future's  shrouded  face  ? 
Who  can  foretell  what  sense  his  soul  shall  find, 
What  stately  meaning,  what  majestic  myth, 
Inscribed  on  life's  familiar  palimpsest? 

ALCMENA 

He  is  beyond  recognizance ! My  love's 

Maternal  arms  feel  vacant  of  my  son ! 

CREON 

I  have  played  the  game  out  to  its  mean  mild  end, 

And  won  the  world's  prize,  in  a  certain  measure. 

Now,  being  quit  with  fortune  and  grown  old, 

I  am  no  longer  partisan, —  as  needs 

Man  must  be  when  his  stake  is  in  the  game,  — 

But,  disabused  of  life's  persuasions,  which 

O'erbalance  justice  in  its  own  defence, 

I  sit  apart  in  the  clear  empty  light 

Of  wisdom,  as  in  some  pale  aftermath, 

And  grow,  in  justice  and  serenity, 

Clearly  and  patiently  contemplative. 

Therefore  I  find  for  this  emergency 

Some  thoughts  which  come  not  all  inaptly  in 

To  help  our  understanding  of  the  man 

Who  yesternight  was  strange  unto  us  all. 

For  I  have  lately,  in  the  liberal  years, 

Foregone  the  lore  of  cheap  philosophies 

Which  find  an  ultimate  identity 

[    103    1 


HERAKLES 

In  all  the  souls  and  destinies  of  men. 

Crowds  are  but  numbers;  and  at  last  I  see 

There  are  not  merely  players  of  the  game; 

There  is  not,  high  or  low,  only  the  one 

Sensible  and  substantial  prize  to  which 

The  fiat  of  the  world  gives  currency, — 

And  which,  in  various  ways,  is  always  won ! 

There  is  besides  the  one,  estranged,  rare  man, 

Whose  light  of  life  is  splendid  in  the  soul, 

Burns  with  a  kind  of  glory  in  his  strength, 

And  gives  such  special  grandeur  to  ambition, 

That  he  will  make  no  terms  with  fortune,  nor 

Play  for  whatever  prize  the  game  affords. 

He  thinks  to  vanquish  destiny,  enforce 

The  Gods,  and,  by  transcendent  strength  and  toil, 

Earn  —  what  alone  of  all  things  must  be  earned  — 

The  soul's  prize  —  which  is  always  just  the  soul !  — - 

The  soul,  self -mastered,  self-assured,  self -known, 

God-like !  and  with  the  deathless  Gods  co-heir 

Of  truth's  ineffable  eternities ;  — 

The  soul,  despised,  neglected  and  concealed, — 

And  yet,  in  truth,  as  in  his  raptured  mind, 

Perhaps  the  great  prize  —  which  is  always  lost ! 

And  therefore,  wisdom  says,  no  prize  at  all ! 

But  merely,  for  the  common  use  of  life, 

A  fatal  lure,  a  frenzied  hope,  a  dream 

And  madness  of  imaginative  minds 

So  is  the  world's  work  justified !  And  last, 
[    104    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

Now,  when  the  game  of  life  is  played  —  and  lost, 
Lost  in  the  main,  yet  somehow  hurried  through 
To  the  calm,  threadbare,  tolerable  end, — 
The  humour  of  the  thing  comes  quietly  home, 
As  we  discern  how  wise  we  were  to  take 
The  loss  for  granted  —  and  enjoy  the  game ! 
We  learn  our  weakness ;  learn  to  thank  the  Gods 
That  we  were  weak  and  had  no  prospect  of 
The  prize,  no  lonely  and  supreme  ambitions; 
Learn,  at  the  last,  on  what  fantastic  terms 
Life  is  a  conflict,  since  in  fate's  despite 
All  men  may  yet  prove  victor  —  save  the  strong ! 
The  irony,  to  man's  maturer  mind, 
Sorts  with  his  ancient  pleasant  sense  of  things. 
He  marks  the  stress  of  gross  necessities, 
Immedicable  and  unalterable, 
Which  shape  the  trifling  destinies  of  man ; 
He  finds  an  average  of  circumstance, 
Equal  to  all  men  in  the  true  last  test; 
He  learns  how  much,  by  temperance  and  fear, 
The  weak  men  of  the  world  persuade  the  Gods; 
And  smiling  with  a  mild  and  undeceived 
Despair,  he  sees  the  strong  men  of  the  soul 
Enforce  the  times  to  their  discomfiture, 
And,  of  the  primal  stuff  of  circumstance, 
With  which  the  long  life  of  a  common  man 
Is  very  comfortably  compromised,  * 

Contrive  their  stately  and  remorseless  ruin ! 
[    105    ] 


HERAKLES 

Yes! he  discerns,  beyond  his  private  fault 

And  failure,  —  when  the  game  is  played,  and  lost,  - 
Where  thought  turns  sick  and  dizzy  and  dismayed 
On  the  black  borders  of  its  own  abyss,  — 
How  all  men  living  are  not  ever  free, 
But  straitly  prisoned  in  the  Mystery, 
Burdened  beneath  the  universal  strength, 

Merged  in  the  flux  of  dark  infinities 

Which  are  the  Gods !  —  in  whose  relentless  grasp 
The  strong  man  strives  and  strangles  and  is  slain. 
Then,  to  his  humour,  men  resemble  most 
Dull  creatures  who  live  down  at  the  dense,  dark, 
Fathomless,  dumb  foundations  of  the  sea, — 
Who,  if  they  are  not  pliant,  and  too  weak, 
Too  yielding  to  resist,  are  broken  and  burst, 
Crushed  out  of  life  under  the  passionless, 
Insuperable  weight  of  the  element 
In  which  they  live  and  move  and  have  their  being. 
Are  we  not  justly,  then,  and  terribly 
Enough — however  much  we  see  the  joke!  — 
Cautioned  to  bear  with  wise  humility 
The  utmost  rigours  of  unyielding  chance, 
And  meet  the  serious  issues  of  the  soul 
As  I  have  done  —  with  a  mild  gayety, 
An  unambitious  mind  and  a  lax  will ! 
So  may  we  prosper  to  some  worldly  end ; 
So  may  we  gain  assured  maturities 
And  aptitudes  for  a  well-ordered  life ; 
[    106    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

So,  in  the  lesson  of  many  years,  at  last, 

We  earn  some  sense  of  what  the  Gods  can  do, 

At  best  or  worst,  to  ruin  or  redeem. 

And  therefore,  by  the  witness  of  his  words 

Last  night,  I  find  our  Herakles  imperilled 

Not  by  the  Gods  but  by  himself  alone !  — 

For  the  strong  man  no  calculus  computes, 

No  reason  reckons,  no  arithmetic 

Demonstrates  or  foresees  by  any  means . 

Only  we  know  there  is  no  mortal  peril 

So  dire,  so  desperate  as  to  be  strong! 

AMPHITRYON 

You  are  the  King !  and  may,  by  word  and  deed, 
Give  aid  and  counsel  to  my  son. 

CREON 

Alas! 

Who  is  a  King  to  counsel  or  advise, 
To  help  or  hinder,  if  a  man's  free  will 
Furthers  and  guides  and  justifies  his  being? 
The  strong  receive  no  help  as  they  are  strong; 
They  spare  not  —  and  they  are  not  ever  spared 
By  Gods  or  men;  the  counsel  of  the  wise, 
The  tender  tears  of  love's  solicitude, 
Cannot  deter  them  or  persuade  them  home ! 
Alas !  Strength  is  a  hazard  none  may  share, 
A  genius  none  may  caution  or  advise. 

t    107    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  strong  man  and  the  humble  man  are  twain 

By  the  one  real  division  of  men's  lives 

And  destinies :  there  a  great  gulf  is  fixed, 

A  dark  abyss  no  rainbow-bridge  can  span, 

Between  life's  level  places  of  brief  hopes, 

Familiar  ways,  and  measurable  ends, 

And  the  starred  skies  of  thought's  imagination. 

To  you  my  kingship  seems  a  proper  prize 

For  life's  fulfilment ;  —  but  last  night  we  learned 

How  the  ambitious  soul  scorns  to  deserve 

Life's  facile,  fortunate  prosperities. 

I  think  to  such  a  one  the  purpose  of 

His  will,  the  strength  that  marks  his  isolation, 

Are  to  him  as  a  passion  —  as  a  vision 

Of  truth,  which  gives  his  strange  soul  liberty 

To  flame  its  furtherance  thro'  the  wise  world ! 

Vainly  for  his  advantage  we  discern 

How,  soon  or  late,  with  ancient  irony, 

The  wise  world,  sitting  at  the  spectacle, 

Hails  his  surrender  or  his  helpless  ruin. 

For  when  the  mad  light  dawns,  the  waking  soul 

Endures  no  lesson  save  its  own,  receives 

No  truth  save  what  itself  exemplifies ! 

Suddenly  the  POET  and  the  WOMAN  appear  in  the 
open  space  before  CREON.  They  are  so  self-ab 
sorbed  that  they  seem  unconscious  of  the  world  about 
them. 

[    108    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

The  POET 
My  heart  is  nervous  like  a  place  of  peril 

The  WOMAN 

My  heart  is  quiet  like  a  place  of  peace. 
I  see  the  light ;  I  know  he  is  the  Lord. 

The  POET 

Faintly  I  feel  the  promise  of  the  Dawn 
Pale  on  the  prison  windows  of  the  soul; 
And  I  believe,  secluded  in  his  strength, 
Dazed  in  his  light,  it  well  may  be  the  Lord 

Is  waking  in  the  house  of  Herakles ! 

Whose  faith  shall  perfectly  shine  out  to  help 

My  unbelief  ? Whose  witness  is  at  hand 

To  certify  the  Truth  and  prove  the  Lord  ? 

He  looks  about  him  and  realizes  where  he  is. 

This  is  the  Agora The  King  —  the  world  — 

The  envoys  of  Eurystheus  —  all  are  here ! 
And  we  are  here,  who  keep  his  vigil !  —  and 
Hither,  at  last,  the  man  shall  grandly  come ! 

CREON 

Stranger,  be  welcome !  By  your  chance  strange  words 
I  dare  surmise  you  come  from  Herakles  ? 

The  POET  turns  and  faces  CREON. 
[    109    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  POET 

After  a  moment's  silence 

O  King! — you,  who  are  old;  whose  eyes  have  seen, 
Borne  on  the  shoulders  of  subjected  men, 
The  little  pageant  of  the  world  go  by, 
Pontifical  and  proud,  with  Gods  and  gold 
And  bright  caparisons  of  victory  — 
And  nothing  come  of  it !  —  whose  ears  have  heard, 
Beyond  the  high,  hard  music  of  the  march, 
Beyond  the  chorus  and  the  canticles, 
The  strange,  strained  sob  of  the  great  human  heart, 
Crushed  and  subdued  against  the  iron  breast 
Of  life's  obscure,  supreme  necessities, — 
The  wailing  and  the  bitter,  broken  cry 
Of  souls  disconsolate  and  lives  foredoomed 
To  ruin  and  intolerable  wrong 
From  Gods  and  men  —  and  nothing  come  of  it !  — 
You,  who  may  haply,  in  your  whole  long  life, 
Once  and  at  last  have  dreadfully  discerned 
The  infinite,  inscrutable  darkness 
Bounding  the  narrow  precincts  of  the  mind, 
And  the  old,  awful  taciturnities, 
Against  whose  smooth,  impenetrable  walls 
The  shouting  and  the  singing  voice  of  life 
Shatter  and  die  and  are  not  heard  beyond  — 
And  nothing  come  of  it!  —  O  you,  whose  mind 
Is  wise  with  the  long  audience  and  vigil 
Your  life  has  been  —  and  nothing  come  of  it !  — 
[    110    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

What  is  your  faith,  and  what  shall  be  my  hope 
Of  Herakles?   Is  it  the  very  light 
Of  truth,  the  very  strength  of  the  soul's  cause, 
This  woman  has  discerned  radiant  in  him  ? 
Is  he  the  very  guide  our  souls  have  sought 
Out  of  the  labyrinth?   Is  he  the  Saviour?  — 

Give  me  your  faith,  for  I  am  sick  with  doubt 

Are  not  the  dire,  dark  Gods,  the  bitter  Gods, 
Ranged,  leagued   and   armoured   with  the  common 

world 

Of  crowds  and  Kings  to  work  the  man's  undoing  ? 
Well  I  discern  where  the  blind,  brutal  hand 

Of  fortune  stretches  at  him  from  the  shadow 

And  soon  the  stroke  shall  fall ! Is  it  too  soon  ? 

Speak !  —  can  he  bear  the  blow  ?  and  is  he  yet 
Full-grown  in  strength,  and,  like  a  God,  become 
Invulnerable  ?  —  or  must  he  yield  at  last  ? 

Or  die  far  on  the  frontiers,  overwhelmed  ? 

Speak!  Speak!  My  spirit  is  irresolute, 
Swift  and  unstable  as  a  wind-swept  flame ! 
Give  me  your  faith ;  the  crucial  hour  is  near ; 
He  comes !  He  comes !  —  and  wilful  of  his  cause, 
Here  shall  the  soul  take  issue  with  the  world ! 

CREON 

After  a  slight  pause;  in  his  most  temperate  tones 
Stranger,  be  welcome  none  the  less  because 
You  tax  the  patience  of  philosophy, 

t  "i  ] 


HERAKLES 

And  vex  a  man  whose  age  and  whose  estate 

Give  him  some  reason  for  the  world's  regard. 

Patience  may  suffer;  but  my  sole  concern 

Is  with  the  perfect  humour  of  the  thing ; 

And  since  you  variously  enhance  the  joke, 

Be  gladly  welcome !  I  discern  in  you 

That  taint  of  a  poetic  eloquence, 

Which  is  perhaps  the  fashion  of  your  youth, 

And  therefore  to  be  leniently  endured, 

Yet  gives  a  special  tinge  of  irony 

To  the  reflective  mind  which  hears  you  speak. 

Believe  me,  you  might  well  be  rid  of  it, 

And  of  your  flourish  and  intemperance 

Of  fancy,  which  the  sane  sense  wearies  of. 

Whatever  hazard  of  man's  life  is  toward, 

The  facts  are  still  sufficient  to  the  end 

In  sight, — and  ends  invisible  are  just 

Mere  myth !  That  you  impute  to  me  a  faith, 

And,  for  yourself,  indulge  some  fervent  hope 

In  what  vague  ventures  of  the  frenzied  mind 

No  soothsayer  of  dreams  can  clearly  tell, 

Charms  me — as  youth  will  charm  us! — but  we 

find 

A  smile  to  vex  down  such  extravagance! 
Alas !  we  have  some  serious  cause  to  fear 
That  the  unhappy  mind  of  Herakles 
Is  raptured  and  estranged  —  resolved  to  take 
Some  final  issues  with  the  Gods  and  men. 
[    112    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

But  we  have  seen,  what  you  at  last  may  learn, 
How  such  pretensions  of  the  spirit  fail,  — 
Whose  victory,  I  take  it,  is  your  hope. 
Life,  like  a  candle  in  a  starless  night, 
Brightens  and  burns,  or  flutters  and  is  spent, 
As  man's  wise  weakness  spares  the  guarded  flame, 
Or  man's  rash  strength  resolves  in  all  despite 
To  lift  his  torch  into  the  spacious  winds, 
To  blaze  his  path  across  the  darknesses, 

And  force  the  elements  to  his  own  undoing 

Only  the  strong  go  forward  —  and  are  slain! 
Only  the  strong,  defenceless,  dare  —  and  die ! 
Only  the  strong,  free,  fain  and  fearless,  —  fail ! 
Remember  this !  lest  a  worse  thing  than  mere 
Passion  and  ecstasy  of  poems  befall  you. 

The  POET 

Old  man,  old  vain  mild  phantom  of  a  man !  — 
These  many  years  there  is  no  phrase  of  all 
Your  cowardly  smooth  wit,  no  attitude 
Of  yours  I  have  not  learned  and  wearied  of! 
Poor  ancient,  philosophic  humourist ! 
I  know  you  as  you  pitiably  are : 
Wise  as  the  world  is  wise,  —  and  ignorant 
As  only  the  dull,  blatant  world  can  be ! 
Tell  me  your  lies  no  more,  your  clever  lies ! 
Is  there  a  man  so  dull  he  has  not  felt 
The  countless  soldiery  of  circumstance 


HERAKLES 

Charge  down  out  of  the  dark  against  us  all  ? 
Is  there  a  man  so  blind  he  has  not  seen 
How  fearfully  the  timid  citizens 
Of  the  wise  world  that  you  are  master  of 
Armour  their  nakedness  against  the  foe  ? 
Is  there  a  man  so  false  he  has  not  learned 
How  all  in  vain  men  dress  against  the  shafts 
Of  truth  their  shadow-shields,  and  all  in  vain 
Shape  for  their  lives'  defence  the  seeming  gold 
Of  faith,  the  shallow  silver  of  a  sane 
Philosophy, — to  fit  the  cultured  mind!  — 
The  dull,  stern  bronze  of  patient  hardihood, 
Or  any  base  alloy  or  mean  deceit 
Of  weakness  and  respectability,  — 
However  tried  and  tempered  in  the  forge 
Of  the  remembered  usage  of  the  world, 
Fed  with  felled  branches  from  the  tree  of  time  ? 
Is  there  a  man  so  false  and  blind  and  dull 
He  does  not  know  how  all  confinements  yield, 
All  fashions  of  defence  are  overborne, 
When  the  real  truth's  Redeemer  is  at  hand,  — 
When,  midst  the  very  ruins  of  the  House 
Of  Fear,  the  mighty  soul  finds  place  and  room  ? . , 
In  the  great  game  where  each  man's  stake  is  set, 
They  only  lose  who  dare  not  ever  play 
For  the  one  prize  that  is  not  counterfeit  — 
And  they  must  always  lose !   Only  the  strong 
Go  forward  —  and  are  saved !   Only  the  strong, 
[    H4    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

Restless,  defenceless,  and  companionless, 
Dare  —  and  supremely  live !   Only  the  strong, 
Free,  fearless,  all-ambitious,  —  by  so  much 
Come  to  the  soul's  sublime  inheritance! 
I  asked  no  stale  philosophy  like  yours, 
Safe  and  sententious;  and  I  am  not  apt 
To  take  your  dreadful  humour,  —  which  to  me 
Seems  like  the  simper  on  a  dead  man's  face ! 
Out  of  my  soul's  unrest  I  cried  to  you ! 
Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  heart's  desire 
I  cried  for  faith,  to  you  who  had  it  not !  — 
For  faith  that  here  at  last,  come  to  his  own, 

Is  the  true,  brave,  divine,  enfranchised  man! 

I  seek  my  saviour !  I  am  nothing  more 
Than  a  great  voice  crying  upon  his  name, 
Shouting  his  welcome,  —  for  he  surely  comes ! 
My  poems  are  the  pure  paean  of  his  advent  — 
And  well  I  know  he  sleeps  within  myself! 
Still,  tho'  I  call  him  with  a  constant  voice, 
And,  standing  heart-sick  in  the  twilight,  fill 
His  glimmering  casement  with  free  flights  of  song, 

He  wakes  not  yet  for  all  that  I  can  do ! 

Therefore,  O  therefore  is  my  hope  alive 

For  the  true  man  in  whom  the  saviour  wakes, 

Who  is  my  equal,  —  who  is  more  than  I ! 

Till,  at  his  touch,  the  golden  gates  of  light 
Sunder!  —  till,  suddenly,  the  pregnant  soul 
Wakes  in  the  pangs  of  God's  nativity ! 


HERAKLES 

CREON 

Poor  mad,  mazed,  dream-bedevilled,  frenzied  fool !  — 
'T  is  well  my  anger  is  no  longer  rash  — 

The  POET 

Mad  to  your  sense  I  may  be,  —  mad  almost 
As  God  is  mad  to  those  who  know  Him  not ! 

Turning  to  the  WOMAN 
Woman,  O  Woman !  what  shall  be  my  hope  ? 
Would  that  my  faith  were  perfect!  Overlong 
My  heart  has  fed  with  blood  the  sacred  flame ; 
Mine  eyes  have  kept  the  consecrated  vigil ;  — 
And  almost  seemed  magnificently  at  last 

To  witness  to  the  coming  of  the  Lord ! 

O  might  the  tranquil  eyes  of  wisdom  read 
Into  the  powers  and  prospects  of  the  soul 
A  larger  sense  of  what  is  possible 
Than  I  have  seen  —  and  help  my  unbelief ! 

The  voices  of  a  great  multitude  sound,  crying  out  in  the 
distance. 

<e  The  VOICES 

Herakles!  Herakles! 

The  POET 
At  last  he  comes ! 

CREON 

Comes  to  relieve  our  small  suspense,  to  end 
The  prologue  and  enact  the  —  comedy ! 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

The  POET 

moving  swiftly  to  a  position  close  beside  the  throne  of 
CREON  and  addressing  him  with  an  earnest  inten 
sity 

Old  man,  forego  your  childish  pleasantries ! 
Your  cap  and  bells  ring  sadly  out  of  tune 
Amid  the  solemn  and  celestial  choirs 
Which  sound  across  their  clear  antiphonies, 
Now  as  the  Hero  —  and,  it  well  may  be, 
The  Saviour  —  yea !  the  truth's  Redeemer  comes ! 
Put  by  your  mannered,  threadbare  attitude ; 
Put  by  your  trifling  wisdom  of  the  world ; 
Witness  and  understand !  Your  eyes  and  brain 
May  well  be  clear, — for  age  wears  out  the  world 
In  man's  regard,  like  some  embroidered  silk 
Worn  threadbare  in  the  gradual  waste  of  time, 
And  leaves  a  calm,  transparent  vacancy, 
As  of  pale  light  over  a  hueless  sea. 
Watch!  and  it  may  be  you  shall  read  the  news 
And  see  into  the  secret ! 

The  VOICES 
nearer  than  before 

Herakles! 
Herakles!  Herakles! 

The  POET 

He  comes !  —  O  King, 
He  is  that  man  from  whose  resplendent  eyes, 


HERAKLES 

But  lately,  to  the  woman  who  had  faith, 

The  light  of  Gods  shone  out  like  a  strange  dawn !. 


The  VOICES 

always  nearer 
Herakles!  Herakles! 

The  POET 

Behold  him  well ! 

I  —  I  have  seen  his  strength,  and  half-believed 
That  he  is  of  the  few  indomitable 
Whom  the  Gods  hardly  bring  into  dominion 
By  any  means !  —  till  I  have  seemed  to  hear 
Sound  in  my  soul  the  trumpets  of  his  triumph!. 


The  VOICES 

close  at  hand 
Herakles!  Herakles! 

The  POET 

He  is  at  hand! 

The  Bridegroom  comes ! O  Heart !  O  Paranymph ! 

Let  the  sealed  gates  of  love  stand  wide  asunder, 
And  all  the  bounds  of  faith  perish  away ! 
And  let  the  winged  soul,  from  its  lonely  skies, 
Cry  out  in  joy,  claiming  the  victory ! 

Amid  a  great  roar  of  welcome  from  the  people  and  the 
soldiers,  HERAKLES  appears  in  the  open  space 
before  the  King.  He  is  accompanied  by  MEGARA 
(    H8    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

and  his  Children,  and  followed  by  IOLAUS.  He 
confronts  the  King  and  the  cheering  multitude  in 
silence.  Gradually  the  tumult  subsides.  Meanwhile 
the  MESSENGERS  OF  EURYSTHEUS  draw 
near  the  throne  of  CREON. 

AMPHITRYON 
Welcome,  my  son! 

CREON 

Thrice  welcome,  Herakles ! 
Messengers  are  come  hither  from  the  King 
Of  Argos,  and  will  speak  alone  to  you. 

HERAKLES 

It  will  not  help  that  I  should  hear  them  now. 
I  have  renounced  all  profits  and  concerns 
And  servitudes  of  proud  and  politic  men; 
For,  in  the  strong  fulfilment  of  my  vision, 
I  am  resolved  hereafter  to  be  free ! 
Therefore  the  envoys  of  Eurystheus 
Now  may  depart  in  silence :  I  no  more 
Regard  them,  and  I  will  not  hear  them  now. 
I  must  be  diligent  about  my  business, 
Which  brooks  no  more  delay!  —  And  know  you  well, 
If  you  behold  me  now  it  is  because 
I  have  one  thing  in  all  the  world,  one  thing 
To  all  the  world,  and  only  one,  to  say: 
Farewell ! 


HERAKLES 

Rumour  among  the  people  and  soldiers.   The  King  and 
those  about  him  listen  with  anxious  concern. 
My  heart,  this  one,  brief,  utmost  time, 
Returns  to  where  it  once  went  proudly  home 
And  daily  dwelt,  —  knowing  no  better  place, 
No  more  majestic  mansion  of  desire, 
No  costlier  love,  —  to  bid  you  all  farewell ! 
Farewell !  I  linger  but  to  take  my  leave 
Of  all  I  loved ;  my  soul  is  on  its  way ; 
I  am  impatient  to  begone ;  —  farewell ! 
Farewell !  My  road  is  hence  and  hard  and  far ; 
And  where  it  leads  me  I  may  haply  learn ; 

And  whither,  if  at  all,  it  takes  me  home! 

Now  I  but  know  I  will  be  free  to  follow 

In  the  steep  way,  my  soul's  way,  to  the  light  — 

The  light  which  dawns  within  me !   O  my  friends  — 

Kin,  soldiers,  citizens  —  be  well  assured 

That  even  in  this  mystic  and  majestic  hour 

The  Lord  is  in  my  house  —  and  wakes ! At  dawn, 

Solving  the  heart's  incertitudes,  one  came 

To  witness  to  the  Lord  and  specify 

His  advent  —  and  he  wakes  —  and  all  is  well ! 

I  asked  —  and  bountifully  I  have  received ; 

I  sought  —  and  I  have  wonderfully  found ; 

I  knocked  —  and  now  the  spacious  and  sudden  doors 

Splendidly  open  to  my  furtherance ! 

I  must  begone !   Farewell,  at  last,  farewell ! 
My  heart  is  fain;  my  will  is  on  the  way; 
[    120    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

And,  from  the  soul's  eternal  secret  source, 
Issues  a  strength  I  hardly  dare  to  feel 
Within  me  and  upon  me !  —  such  a  strength 
As  drives  the  ploughshare  of  its  great  resolve 
Across  the  little  limits  of  this  world, 
And  may  endure  no  let  of  God  or  man 
Cast  in  the  fair-way  of  its  rash  ambition ! 


CREON 
Now  sounds  the  dread,  mad  voice  whose  sense  is  peril. 

The  POET 

Now  sounds  the  trumpet-call  of  hope,  the  cry 
Of  the  enfranchised,  strong,  expectant  soul ! 

HERAKLES 

Comrades  and  friends  —  companions  of  my  youth  — 
Lovers  of  mine,  whose  love  was  health  and  home, 
Honour  and  happiness  to  me,  —  farewell ! 
Now  may  your  eyes  discern  the  mystic  change ! 
Him  you  behold  is  not  that  Herakles 
You  knew,  who  armed  you  from  the  temple  walls, 
And  captained  you  across  the  battlefields, 
In  the  dark  way  of  death,  to  victory ! 
I  am  no  more,  no  more,  —  O  valiant  sons 
Of  Cadmus!  O  my  soldiers! — as  I  was 
That  day  we  wrapped  in  winding-sheets  of  flame 
Palace  and  parapet  and  pinnacle 
And  all  the  bastioned  power  of  proud  Orchomenos ! 


HERAKLES 

I  go  away  into  the  light  from  you ; 

I  leave  you;  I  return  no  more And  yet 

You  shall  remember  how  it  was  with  us 
That  day  the  hero  and  the  host  returned 
Full-flushed,  in  triumph,  with  the  Minyan  spoil !  — 
When  the  pale  women  caught  our  dreadful  hands, 
Where  the  red  blood  dried  black,  and  wreathed  our 

swords  — 

Our  sinister,  soiled  swords  of  victory  — 
With  bridal  flowers,  and  kissed  our  fierce,  parched 

mouths, 

And,  weeping,  laughed  into  our  shining  eyes 
With  eager  lips,  song-spent  and  tremulous! 
You  shall  remember !  —  and  I  leave  with  you 
That  Herakles  who  bids  you  now  farewell ! 

An  immense  clamour  rises  from  the  people.  The  soldiers, 
with  cries  of  devotion  and  dismay,  rush  forward  and 
surround  HERAKLES,  They  even  seize  his  gar- 
ments  with  restraining  hands. 

O  manhood  —  memories  —  mood  of  many  days 
Of  well-companioned  tasks  and  victories 
And  exultations  and  familiar  joys, 
Evoked,  impassioned  in  your  hearts  and  mine!  — 
How  shall  I  bear  to  say  farewell  to  you  ? 
Brothers-in-arms  —  O  comrades  —  faithful  friends  — 
It  is  not  as  my  heart  wills  —  not  my  heart 
Is  turned  from  you-ward !  —  for  God  knows  my  heart 
[    122    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

Is  yearning  and  irresolute  and  aggrieved, 

And  will  not  leave  you,  and  laments  and  loves 

And  dares  not  lose  what  life  has  held  so  dear! 

Only  I  know  there  is  no  way  for  me 

But  my  way,  and  no  way  but  yours  for  you ; 

And  all  ways  of  the  world  are  false  and  blind 

And  barred  and  bounded  to  a  mean  ambition, 

Which  knows  no  more  magnificent  prize  than  mere 

Exclusive  profits  and  prosperities; 

And  all  ways  of  the  soul  are  ways  of  truth, 

Which  whoso  treads  them  out  shall  learn  to  know 

What  excellence  there  is  within  himself 

Which  finds  no  hope  or  having  tolerable 

That  all  men  may  not  share  on  equal  terms! 

But  since,  when  once  revealed,  the  truth  forever 

Is  irremediable;  and  since  I  know 

You  will  not  come  with  me  out  of  the  world ; 

And  since  I  may  not  go  away  with  you, 

Back  from  my  prospect  and  my  path ;  —  farewell ! 

What  tho'  the  strong  heart  breaks  to  feel  your  love  ? 

Yet  will  the  soul,  the  waking  soul,  be  free! 

Turning  swiftly  to  MEGARA 
O  let  us  hasten  hence ! 

Turning  again  to  the  soldiers  and  people,  and  speaking 
as  though  to  all  the  world 

Farewell!  Farewell!  — 
Now  and  forevermore! 

[    123    ] 


HERAKLES 

Meanwhile  the  MESSENGERS  OF  EURYSTHEUS 
have  approached.  Now  one  of  them  advances  alone 
toward  HERAKLES. 

The  MESSENGER 

O  Herakles, 

Wise  is  your  purpose  now  to  bid  farewell 
To  all  the  world! 

HERAKLES 

Long  since  I  took  my  leave 
Of  Kings  and  of  the  Messengers  of  Kings. 

The  MESSENGER 

Wise  is  your  purpose — for  the  proud  fair  days 
And  pleasant  ways  of  life  your  feet  have  trod, 
Are  changed  and  ended  to  return  no  more. 
Farewell  —  O  bid  farewell  indeed  to  all 
These  high  commandments,  riches,  fame  and  friends, 
Honour  and  eager  glories  of  the  world ! 
Farewell  —  O  bid  farewell  to  happiness ; 
To  home  and  wife  and  child  a  last  farewell ! 

HERAKLES 

Rashly  you  speak  of  what  you  know  not  of. 
No  man  alive  is  justified  to  say 
What  things  are  fit  for  the  self-centred  soul. 
I  bid  farewell  to  all  that  is  not  truth 
And  all  enslavements  of  the  soul,  —  but  love 
[    124    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

Of  two  hearts  blent  together  to  one  end 
Of  ecstasy  and  truth's  eternities, 
Is  a  great  thoroughfare  of  liberty 
Wherein  the  soul  may  walk  its  way  well-pleased ! 
I  bid  farewell  to  none  who  go  their  ways, 
Strong  and  resolved,  wherever  the  light  is. 
To  you,  but  not  to  them  whose  way  is  love, 
Whose  love  is  truth,  I  bid  a  last  farewell. 

The  MESSENGER 
Vain   are   your   words,  and   all   your  thoughts   are 

vain, 

And  all  your  hopes !  O  bid  farewell  to  love, 
Farewell  to  friendship  and  to  hope  farewell, — 
Farewell,  a  long  farewell  to  liberty! 
No  more  of  all  these  things  your  life  shall  be 
Made  glad  and  great  and  good !  —  no  more !  no  more ! 
But  rather  inconsolable  solitude, 
Hardship  and  hunger,  shame  and  ill-report, 
Vile  words  and  bitter  usage  of  the  world, 
Labour  and  servitude  and  sacrifice, 
Vigil  and  vagrancy  shall  be  your  lot, 
Your  strength's  achievement  and  your  life's  reward! 

The  POET 

to  the  WOMAN,  grasping  her  arm 
Watch!  for  the  death-grip  comes, —  more  terrible 

Than  fear  can  image  or  despair  conceive ! 

[    125    ] 


HERAKLES 

Watch!  for  the  dark,  fierce,  dread,  revengeful  Gods, 

Out  of  the  shadow  of  the  Mystery, 

Launch  the  lean  lightnings  of  their  utmost  wrath ! 

HERAKLES 

Farewell  to  love  ? Farewell  to  liberty  ? 

And  what  of  truth  ? And  what  of  life  itself  ? 

Enough !  Enough !  These  idle,  senseless  words 
Merely  perplex  my  purpose.   Go  your  ways ! 
I  have  too  long  delayed  to  hear  you,  —  go ! 

The  MESSENGER 

advancing  a  step  toward  HERAKLES 
Born  homeless  by  your  sire's  misdeeds,  outcast 
And  exiled  kinsman  of  the  Argive  King,- 
Herakles!  Herakles!  —  by  birth,  by  race, 
By  right  his  subject,— pause  and  hear  me  speak! 
For  I  am  charged  to  bear  the  King's  commands 
To  you,  his  servant  — 

HERAKLES 

Silence !  By  the  Gods  — 

The  MESSENGER 
The  Gods  enforce  you  to  your  Sovereign's  will ! 

CREON 
to  the  POET 

See  how  he  glares ! 

[    126    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

The  POET 

His  eyes  are  like  a  cry 
Of  horror !  —  like  a  stricken,  haunted  place ! 

HERAKLES 
to  himself 
Where  is  the  light? the  light? 

To  the  MESSENGERS,  with  violence 

Begone!  Begone! 

I  know  my  lineage ;  but  I  have  no  care 
Of  crowds  or  crowns  or  human  servitudes ! 
Your  King's  commands  are  senseless  words  to  me; 
Your  vain  pretensions  like  an  idiot's  dream ! 
Enough!   Begone!  I  have  my  soul  to  seek, 
My  truth  to  learn,  my  liberty  to  win, — 
And  all  my  labours  are  as  yet  undone! 

The  MESSENGER 
Where  are  your  labours  ? 

HERAKLES 

Where  the  light  is  not 

To  bring  the  light;  and  where  the  way  is  shut 
To  open  out  the  way;  and  where  the  house 
Is  tenantless  to  rouse  the  Lord  within !  — 
There  are  my  labours  and  my  works  are  these ! 
[    127    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  MESSENGER 

By  strict  enforcement  of  Eurystheus'  will 
And  stern  commandment  of  the  deathless  Gods, 
Yours  are  the  labours  of  a  subject  man, 
Yours  are  the  tasks  and  toil  of  servitude ! 
For  where  Eurystheus  bids  your  strength  to  serve, 
There  shall  your  works  be  done;  and  all  shall  reap 
Plentiful  harvests  of  your  sowing,  all 
Shall  profit  where  your  single  strength  has  earned ! 
And,  from  the  world's  avid  and  thrifty  hand, 
No  wage  shall  you  receive,  even  at  last,  — 
And  no  thanksgiving 

HERAKLES 

Silence!  — 

The  MESSENGER 

Herakles! 

Herakles !  by  my  voice  your  Sovereign  speaks ! 
Teach  your  rebellious  knees  to  kiss  the  dust; 
Learn  to  obey,  and  humbly  serve  his  will ! 

HERAKLES 
Silence!  Begone!  — 

To  himself 
What  voice  of  prophecy 

Cries  in  my  heart  ? I  dare  not  know  the  truth, 

Nor  hear  the  secret  answered  in  my  soul ! 
It  were  too  monstrous  if  the  worst  were  true  — 
[    128    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

Too  monstrous !  I  will  doubt  no  more  —  and  yet 

Where  is  the  light  —  my  light  ? Where  is  the  voice, 

The  one  puissant  voice  of  the  soul's  song  ? 

Why  am  I  left  in  darkness  and  alone, 

Deserted  and  betrayed  ? Why  do  I  feel 

Shudder  within  me  like  a  dreadful  ghost 
The  superstition  of  a  fatal  thing  ? 

The  POET 
I  know  the  truth,  I  read  the  secret  now ! 


CREON 

starting  to  his  feet 
God!  he  will  yield! 

AMPHITRYON 
My  son! 

MEGARA 

My  Herakles! 
HERAKLES 
turning  upon  her 
You?  — You?  — 

The  POET 
O  were  he  strong  enough  to  yield ! 

.    The  WOMAN 

throwing  herself  at  the  feet  of  HERAKLES 
Lord,  I  believe! 

[    129    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 
Your  faith  destroys  me! 

The  WOMAN 

Lord!  — 
Lord !  —  I  believe ! 

HERAKLES 
Then  help  my  unbelief! 
I  dare  not  realize  what  the  truth  may  be !  — 
So  terrible  it  is,  I  half  believe 
There  is  some  passing  madness  in  my  mind 
By  which  the  light  is  quenched,  the  voice  is  quelled! 
Surely  it  must  be  so !  I  know  but  this, 
I  cannot  see  the  light  —  and  suddenly 
All  the  serene  and  mighty  symphonies 
Of  heart  and  brain  and  being  are  silent 


The  WOMAN 

Lord! 
Lord ! . .  . .  I  believe ! 


HERAKLES 

The  light  returns  —  the  voice ! . . . 

I  dare  not  understand ! I  dare  not  yield ! 

The  MESSENGER, 
striking  HERAKLES  with  his  staff 
Down  in  the  dust,  and  do  your  master's  will! 
[    130    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

The  people  and  soldiers  cry  out  with  a  mighty  voice. 
With  the  swiftness  of  passion,  HERAKLES  wrests 
the  staff  from  the  hand  of  the  MESSENGER  and 
strikes  him  to  the  ground,  where  he  lies  insensible. 

HERAKLES 

utterly  giving  way  to  anger 
Intolerable !  Intolerable !  —  Beware, 

0  Gods,  O  Kings,  O  men  who  try  me  thus! 
You  play  like  children  with  a  deadly  thing ! 

That  heart  may  learn  to  hate  you  which  should  love; 
That  strength  may  ruin  which  might  best  redeem ! 

Turning  upon  the  two  MESSENGERS  who  still  con 
front  him 

Back  to  your  kennel  and  your  currish  king! 

1  spare  your  lives  which  are  not  worth  my  pains! 
Say  to  Eurystheus  I  may  well  return 

From  exile !  —  and  should  Herakles  return, 
Not  one  in  Argos  would  survive  to  tell 

The  monstrous  story  of  its  devastation! 

I  would  tear  Tiryns  from  its  base  and  cast 
Its  burned-out  ruins  on  the  Argive  plain; 
And  in  its  place  I  would  rear  up  a  tower 
Of  the  charred  corpses  of  its  citizens, 
Welded  in  blood;  and  on  its  pinnacle 
The  pale  head  of  Eurystheus  should  display 
How  he  went  down  to  death  beneath  my  hand, 


HERAKLES 

Frenzied  with  fear,  forsaken,  false,  accursed !  — 
Go !  while  there  still  is  mercy  in  me,  go ! 

A  great  shout  of  relief  and  acclamation  rises  from  the 
soldiers  and  people.  The  POET  springs  forward  and 
confronts  HERAKLES  face  to  face. 

The  POET 

shouting  at  HERAKLES 
Coward  and  traitor !  Traitor !  — 

He  is  roughly  seized  by  the  soldiers;  struggling  in  their 
grasp,  he  turns  to  the  WOMAN 

Mourn!  O  mourn, 

Daughter  of  desolation,  mourn  your  loss! 
O  faithful  heart !  —  Woman !  —  We  are  betrayed ! 
Alas !  Alas !  He  is  as  one  of  us, 
Who  all  are  slaves  and  dare  not  undergo 
The  mighty  labours  of  our  liberation ! 
He  too  is  abject,  feeble,  and  afraid; 
He  too  with  mean  economy  prefers 
The  helot's  hovel  to  the  master's  house; 
He  too  will  not  afford  the  price  of  truth 
Nor  earn  the  soul's  full  freedom  by  his  pains ! 

HERAKLES 

fiercely,  but  dismayed 

Whose  voice  assails  me  ? 

[    132    ] 


SEVENTH  SCENE 

The  POET 

Mine! — which  might  have  sung 
Paeans  and  poems  of  you  in  exultation ! 

HERAKLES 
Now  by  the  Gods  you  well  may  die  for  this ! 

The  POET 

Slay  if  you  will !  Yet  mind  you  well  that  he 
Who  slays  himself  in  spirit  and  in  truth, 
Has  done  more  murder  than  a  sword  can  do ! 
I  fear  you  not !  —  but  fear  me  well  you  may, 
Since  I  am  one  whose  lips  have  learned  to  phrase 
The  truth's  tremendous  syllables  of  song ! 
Coward  and  traitor!  —  you  have  quenched  the  light 
Of  truth  and  shut  the  door  of  liberty ! 

HERAKLES  stands,  sobered  and  dizzy  as  from  a 
blow.  The  soldiers  begin  to  drag  the  POET  away  ; 
he  turns  once  more  to  the  WOMAN. 

Daughter  of  desolation,  mourn  your  loss! 
Weep,  for  the  Child  is  slain !  He  slays  the  Child, 
The  Child  of  Light,  about  whose  mystic  birth 
You  were  the  mid-wife  and  the  ministrant! 

The  WOMAN 

to  HERAKLES,  with  agony 
Lord,  I  believe! 

[    133    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 
What  faith  can  make  me  whole  ? 

The  POET 

as  he  is  dragged  away  by  the  soldiers 
Coward  and  traitor !  —  Traitor !  — 

His  voice  is  suddenly  silenced;  he  disappears.  HERA 
KLES  stands,  heedless  of  everything-;  silent,  sick, 
uncertain. 


End  of  the  Seventh  Scene. 


EIGHTH  SCENE 


Later  of  the  same  day.  An  open  space  before  a  Temple  situated 
on  an  acropolis  in  Thebes.  The  gay  tumult  of  a  public  holi 
day  rises  from  the  city,  which  lies  out  in  panorama  not  far 
below. 

The  POET  and  the  WOMAN,  alone. 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

The  POET 

We  two  in  all  the  world  have  tears  for  him  !...<. 
Hark !  how  they  make  a  public  festival 
And  cry  thanksgiving  that  the  God  is  slain 

He  pauses.   The  WOMAN  is  silent.   The  rumour  from 
the  city  sounds  louder  than  before. 

Yes,  they  rejoice !  —  an  excellence  is  lost, 
And  so  their  triumph  is  securely  won! 
Hark !  how  they  mock  with  mirth  the  soul's  defeat, 
These  dreadful,  dread  majorities  of  men 
Who  shout  into  the  air  and  beat  their  hands 
At  pageants,  tragedies,  and  crucifixions ;  — 
Who,  when  a  soul  surrenders,  sound  across 
Truth's  broken  harmonies  their  rank  applause ! 

The  cries  of  the  multitude  sound  nearer. 

Hark!  Hark!  They  come  —  wreathed,   radiant,  un 
ashamed  ! 

Their  drums  sound  hither  where  the  mourners  sit, 
Sanctified,  silent  in  their  mystic  grief, 
About  the  gravestone  of  the  earth-born  God ! 
And  whensoever,  from  the  huddled  homes, 
The  congregations  and  the  courts  of  men, 
[    137    ] 


HERAKLES 

One,  rising  up  from  where  he  sat  so  long 

In  darkness  with  the  wise  men  of  the  world, 

Finds  God  incarnate  in  his  inmost  soul, 

And  feels  across  the  vision  of  his  eyes 

The  unimagined,  strong,  seraphic  light, 

And  speaks  his  mystic  message  thrilled  with  song, — 

Then  will  you  hear  sound  out  against  the  man 

The  world's  ironic,  base,  and  vacant  voice,  — 

The  tuneless  tumult  of  democracies ! 

So,  when  the  soul  is  crushed,  defeated,  slain,  — 

O  then  as  now,  toward  the  crystalline 

Unmindful  heaven's  serene  immensity, 

From  all  the  nameless  numbers  of  the  world 

Thunder  their  triumph  and  their  acclamations ! 

A  great,  gay  multitude  of  men  and  women,  with  CREON 
and  AMPHITRYON  at  their  head,  appear  on  their 
way  from  the  city  to  the  Temple. 

Not  even  here  is  sanctuary Behold ! 

They  come  to  thank  the  Gods  that  God  is  slain ! 

CREON,  on  his  way,  perceives  the  POET  and  pauses. 

CREON 

Here's  our  poetic,  pale  enthusiast, 
Changed  from  his  madness,  sobered,  let  us  hope, 
And  somewhat  wiser.   Ah,  how  vain  were  all 
Our  hopes  and  fears !  He  merely  boasted !  What  ?  — 
Believed  his  boast,  you  say?  —  I  grant  you !  Well, 

[    138    ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

And  what  of  that  ?   True  faith 's  the  only  harm ! 
For  much  as  Herakles  was  crazed  by  dreams, 
So  in  their  lives  are  many  men  deceived,  — 
And  by  their  disenchantment  much  matured ! 
Thus  we  discern  when  excellence  is  lost 
How  much  is  saved,  —  our  hero  first  of  all ! 
And  last,  but  not,  good  sir,  believe  me,  least, 
We  now  may  pleasantly  observe  how  well 
Our  sense  of  humour  and  our  quiet  smile 
Of  irony  still  vindicate  their  use, 
And  prove  life's  ablest  critics  after  all! 

The  POET  listens  with  quiet  indifference.  CREON 
turns  and  enters  the  Temple  with  AMPHITRYON. 
The  multitude  follow.  The  POET  and  the  WOMAN 
are  left  once  more  alone. 

The  WOMAN 
I  will  not  now  believe  that  all  is  lost ! . . 


The  POET 

Nothing  is  lost !  —  for  he  was  not  the  Light ; 
He  was  but  one  whose  strength  had  momently 
Uplifted  in  his  hand  the  kindled  torch 
Whereof  the  spark  lives  quenchless  in  the  soul. 
Fail  not  in  faith  because  the  torch-bearer 
Is  fallen !  —  the  sacred  flame  still  lives  in  splendour, 
Tho'  the  lax  hand  let  fall  the  lamp  that  made 

To  our  gross  sense  the  glory  visible ! 

[    139    ] 


HERAKLES 

The  WOMAN 

I  know  no  light  but  his,  no  faith  but  him. 
He  held  the  torch  up  in  my  darknesses; 
He  gave  me  light  where  the  long  path  went  on; 
And  where  his  strength  made  room,  there  was  my 


way ! 


Strong  and  serene  as  sunrise,  I  beheld 
His  advent;  and,  the  little  while  he  tarried, 
The  common  clay  I  am  of  life's  admixture 
Seemed  all  suffused  and  interchanged  with  gold!.... 

What  shall  my  life  become  if  he  is  gone  ? 

And  what  is  truth  ? and  why  are  all  the  free 

Fine  faculties  of  the  impassioned  mind  ? 

And  wherefore  has  the  heart  such  wings  of  faith, 
Such  springs  of  love,  such  hardihood  of  hope, 
If  he  is  gone  ?  —  I  will  not  so  believe ! 
He  is  still  forward,  still  sublime,  still  strong! 

The  POET 

Alas !  Alas !  I  dare  not  hope  —  I  saw 
The  Spirit  labouring  in  him,  as  life  labours 

In  one  who  dies  too  young The  light  was  spent ; 

The  voice  was  still !  Alas !  I  know  too  well 
The  secret  signs :  —  how  often,  in  my  house 
Daily  rekindled,  daily  have  I  seen 
The  light  dying,  dying,  —  the  sacred  flame 
Burn  small  into  the  common  day  of  life! 
How  often  I  —  I  also,  silently 
[    140    ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

And  suddenly  have  seen  those  walls,  that  make 
The  mansion  of  the  Spirit's  isolation, 
Wear  thin  as  light,  and,  like  a  prodigy, 
The  dayspring  of  the  soul  flush  thro* !  —  till  all 
This  mortal  man  was  like  a  lantern  held 
Aloft,  alight  in  the  vast  night  of  being; 
And  wayfarers  might  find  their  way  withal! 
I  too  have  lit  my  candle  at  the  sun, 

And  made  my  poems  of  it  till  the  light  failed ! 

Made  only  poems !  —  yet  more  than  he  shall  make, 
Who  is  grown  dark  as  any  proud  glad  man; 
Whose  light  is  quenched  in  passion  and  fierce  deeds; 
Whose  soul  is  spent  in  purchase  of  this  world; 
Whose  strength  is  small;  whose  truth  is  partisan! 
Alas !  Alas !  there  is  no  room  for  hope 

The  WOMAN 

I  will  not  so  believe !  They  are  not  dark, 
His  eyes,  where  once  my  sightless  eyes  discerned 
Spacious  and  grave  nativities  of  light! 
He  is  not,  in  the  dust  with  other  men, 
So  all  inexpiably  and  weakly  fallen 
From  where  he  stood,  aureoled,  invincible! 

The  POET 
You  love  him ! 

The  WOMAN 
I  ? I  dared  not !  Love  ?  —  O  God ! 


HERAKLES 

I  had  not  strength  enough  nor  grace  of  soul 
Nor  grandeur  in  my  heart  to  love  him  with ! 
Could  I  have  loved  him  all  might  now  be  well!, 


The  POET 

Can  you  imagine  of  the  human  heart 
Such  prodigies  ?  —  that  love  could  so  avail 
The  soul  once  purposed  to  the  ends  of  truth, 

Which  fears  and  palters  with  the  price? Enough! 

Let  us  go  hence  before  the  worshippers 
Return  to  vex  our  grief  and  solitude. 
Let  us  go  hence. 

The  WOMAN 
and  seek  for  Herakles ! 

The  POET  and  the  WOMAN  depart.  A  moment 
later  HERAKLES  appears,  coming  up  from  the  city. 
He  pauses  by  the  Temple  steps,  gazing  abroad  over 
the  immense  prospect. 

HERAKLES 

I  dimly  see  how  far  perfection  is, 
And  what  the  utmost  price  of  truth  must  be, 

And  how  the  strong  soul  is  companionless 

And  I  am  heart-sick  in  my  hour  of  weakness ! 
I  have  been  much  and  soon  and  fiercely  tried, 
And  now  the  process  of  the  pregnant  past 
Yields  to  my  sense  its  stern  significance !  — 
[    142    ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

I  was  a  tranquil  householder,  whose  house 

Of  life  seemed  so  securely  locked  and  barred 

That  at  the  feast  and  in  the  pleasant  mansions 

How  should  he  fear  to  find  the  fatal  guest  — 

The  Truth,  whose  voice  sings  out  the  wonder-song 

Of  life  and  death  adventured  to  one  end; 

Whose  eyes  are  clear,  whose  brows  are  pale  with  stars, 

Whose  nakedness  is  bright  and  terrible? 

Yet,  in  the  rashness  of  my  discontent, 
My  hands,  impatient  of  the  tasks  and  toys, 
Breached  the  blind  walls  of  life's  secure  defence 
And  gave  glad  welcome  to  the  ambushed  foe ! 
Now  am  I  pressed  and  overborne,  as  one 
Beleaguered  in  a  ruined  citadel; 
I  am  invaded,  violated !  —  all 
The  doors  stand  open  of  my  dwelling-place ; 
My  heart  is  sacked  and  spoiled  without  reprieve, 
For  all  may  pillage  in  its  treasuries; 
The  feast  no  more  is  spread  but  Truth  is  there 
To  consecrate  the  wine  of  human  love 
And  transubstantiate  life's  daily  bread ; 
And  in  the  mansions  I  can  sleep  no  more 
Because  of  one  crying  "  It  is  the  Dawn ! "  — 
I  was  a  thrifty  husbandman  who  tilled 
With  patient  labour  life's  familiar  fields, 
And  gathered  in  the  harvest  to  his  small 
And  well-approved  and  insufficient  needs;  — 
But  when  the  narrow  bounty  of  my  tillage 
t    143    ] 


HERAKLES 

No  more  sufficed  to  give  me  nourishment, 

Eager  of  more  superb  prosperities, 

I  drove  my  ploughshare  with  a  reckless  hand, 

Furrowed  the  fallow  acres  of  the  soul, 

And  in  new  soil  of  strange  fertilities 

Cast  down  the  good  seed  of  a  great  ambition ! 

Now  in  my  soul  the  ripened  harvest  stands, 

Waiting  the  sickle,  —  and  my  hands  must  reap 

And  earn  perfection's  lordlier  livelihood !  — 

Leaving  unsown,  unscythed,  unharvested, 

The  humble  fruit  of  human  happiness 

Which  was  the  substance  of  my  daily  bread, 

And  all  my  life  long  made  the  staff  of  life. 

I  was  a  happy  lover,  innocent 

And  candid  in  the  paradise  of  love; 

And  love  was  human  and  was  happiness  — 

Until  I  dreamed  of  the  celestial  Bride ! 

Then  were  my  heart's  inviolate  secrecies 

Disclosed  —  and  I  beheld  her  fabled  face ! 

I  saw  how  young  she  was  and  beautiful ! 

I  knew  her  love's  ineffable  ecstasies ! 

And  all  the  lesser  loveliness  of  earth 
Was  in  my  sight  no  more  desirable. 
Then,  like  a  bridegroom,  heedless  on  his  quest 
If  the  dark  way  be  strange  and  unexplored 
Or  if  the  bridal  chamber  have  no  light, 
I  hastened  to  my  Paramour  —  I  kept 
Love's  secret  assignation  with  my  soul ! 
[    144    ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

Now  of  that  whispered,  dark  embrace  is  born, 

In  the  deep  womb  of  thought,  a  prodigy 

Whose  strength  shall  dispossess  me  of  this  world ! , 


CHORUS  OF  RESPONDENTS 

from  within  the  Temple 

We  fear  Thee  and  we  know  Thee  not! 

We  know  but  this,  when  all  is  said : 
That  life  is  false  and  forfeited, 
And  love  foregone  and  truth  forgot 
To  serve  Thee  whom  we  dare  not  trust; 
While,  vexed  with  very  sore  distress, 
We  go  nowhither  in  the  trampled  dust 

Of  life,  companioned  yet  companionless 

Yet  still  we  serve  Thee  —  as  we  must !  — 
Serve  Thee  and  suffer  and  atone 
And  daily  fear  Thee  and  confess 
The  Kingdom  and  the  Glory  and  the  Power 
Are  only  Thine  —  not  ours  but  Thine  alone ! 
For  we  are  meek  in  spirit, 
And  live  like  creatures  of  the  transient  hour 
Who  dare  not  strive  and  suffer  to  inherit 
The  birthright  of  the  soul, — who  dare  not  be 
Perfect  as  Thou  art  and,  as  Thou  art,  free! 
No  hopes  may  tempt  us ;  and  for  us  in  vain, 
Globed  like  a  golden  lamp  suffused  in  rain, 
The  candid,  living  fruit  upon  the  tree 
Of  knowledge,  and  the  prime,  pressed  grapes  of  love 
[    145    ] 


HERAKLES 

Which  brim  with  sacred  wine  life's  earthen  bowl, 

Ripen  in  sun-steeped  orchards  of  the  soul ! 

We  are  incurious,  pious  and  afraid 

And  have  no  care  thereof, 

So  the  small  price  of  all  we  lose  is  paid. 

Therefore,  as  Thou  art  just, 

Give  and  forgive !  — 

Forgive  our  trespasses,  and  as  we  humbly  live, 

Give  us  our  daily  bread ! 

By  Thy  small  mercies  we  confirm  our  trust : 

And  since  so  much  is  forfeit  that  perchance 

Man  might  reclaim  as  his  inheritance, 

Scant  not  to  our  desire 

The  mess  of  pottage  that  we  ask  instead ! 

But,  in  abundant  measure, 

Give  us  the  trifle  of  our  hire,  — 

The  pride,  the  fame,  the  kingships  and  the  gold, 

The  paltry  profit  and  the  hasty  pleasure, 

For  which,  to  further  and  fulfil 

The  dark  stern  process  of  Thy  secret  will, 

The  soul,  the  truth,  the  strength  of  man  are  sold ! 

HERAKLES 

Pathos  —  humility  —  surrender  —  fear !  — 
Starved,  sterile,  satisfied,  supremely  sad 
Human  vociferation  and  appeal !  — 
O  frightened  children,  crying  in  the  dark !  — 
Be  well  assured  this  hour  of  lamentation, 
[    146     ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

Of  weakness  and  despair  shall  pass  away ! 
Unconquerable  is  the  strength  within  me  —  soon, 
Soon  to  revive !  —  and  spares  not,  neither  counts 

The  cost ! O  I  begin  to  be  afraid 

Of  what  I  am !  —  for  if  I  live  at  all, 

I  must  reclaim  the  Birthright  and  redeem 

The  Spirit  and  the  Truth  from  servitude ! 

Servitude  ?  —  then,  the  labours  ?  —  and  Eurystheus  ? 

No,  by  the  Gods,  it  is  not  to  be  borne ! 

And  in  the  very  thought  of  that  abasement 

Lies  only  madness  and  a  black  despair! 

The  voice  of  the  POET 

from  below 

How  shall  we  learn  to  bear  what  must  be  borne  ? 
How  shall  the  heart  not  break  when  love  is  lost  ? 
How  shall  life  earn  enough  to  pay  the  cost 
Of  all  the  tears,  the  solitude,  the  scorn  ? 
How  shall  we  not  be  utterly  forlorn 
When  they  deny  us  whom  we  cherished  most? 
When  all  life  was  becomes  a  dreadful  ghost, 
How,  from  such  pangs  of  death,  is  life  reborn  ?  — 

How  shall  we  live  at  all  ? Thou  canst  not  say, 

O  Heart,  whose  voice  is  lamentation !  Where, 
Where  are  the  nobler  virtues  that  repay, 
When  all  is  gone  that  gave  us  most  delight  ? 
When  shall  the  soul,  from  what  supernal  height, 
Witness  the  truth  and  save  us  from  despair  ? 

r.  147  ] 


HERAKLES 

Before  the  voice  of  the  POET  is  still,  a  very  old  blind 
man,  led  by  a  shepherd  boy,  appears  coming  up  from 
below.  At  the  same  moment  CREON  and  AMPHI 
TRYON,  followed  by  the  multitude  of  worshippers, 
appear  upon  the  Temple  steps. 

The  OLD  MAN 

Is  there  a  man  who  hears  me  ?  If  there  be, 
Let  him,  as  one  who  loves  the  Delphic  God, 
Straitly  direct  my  steps  - 

CREON 

Teiresias ! 

TEIRESIAS 
Surely  I  know  the  accents  of  the  King 

CREON 

Servant  of  Loxias,  wherefore  art  thou  come  ? 
Thou,  in  whose  sightless  eyes  the  God  has  fixed 
The  fearful  vision  of  all  future  things, 
Speak,  if  thy  words  concern  the  fate  of  Thebes ! 

TEIRESIAS 

Creon,  I  come  not  in  the  public  cause. 
Yet,  I  beseech  you,  guide  me,  that  the  will 
Of  God  may  be  accomplished;  and  direct 
My  steps,  that  I  may  speak,  as  God  commands, 
His  words  to  Herakles. 

[     148    ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 

To  Herakles  ?  — 

What  is  your  message  ?  Speak !  —  for  be  assured 
If  God  is  I  will  know  His  will  with  me ! 

TEIRESIAS 
You  are  that  Herakles  ?  —  O  wretched  man ! 

HERAKLES 
Wretched? 

TEIRESIAS 

Most  wretched  of  the  sons  of  men 
Is  he  who  breaks  the  bonds  of  human  fate 
And  dares  the  soul's  transcendent  destiny ! 
He  shall,  alone  of  all  men,  nevermore 
Rest  and  arise  refreshed  from  rest ;  rejoice, 
Love,  live,  and  have  his  happy  human  being, 
As  a  man  may,  in  life's  familiar  place 
Where  sleep  is  sweet  and  toil  repaid  and  tears 
Consoled  and  man's  imperfect  nature  soothed 
And  satisfied,  man's  unambitious  mind 

Content,  man's  insufficient  heart  fulfilled! 

For  all  his  life  is  lost  to  save  his  life; 
And  all  he  loved  is  sacrificed  and  slain 
To  make  love  pure  and  perfect  in  his  heart !  — 
Until  at  last,  released  from  servitude 
By  long,  incredible  labours  and  the  strength 
That  sleeps  not,  neither  spares,  the  soul  is  left 
[    149    ] 


HERAKLES 

Naked  with  knowledge,  where  the  lapse  of  time 

Leaves  its  eternity  unhazarded, 

Solitary  in  a  waste  and  desert  place,  — 

Where  once  the  friendly  cities  rose  in  towers, 

And,  rich  with  harvests,  hills  and  pleasant  gardens, 

The  humble  paradise  of  human  life 

Prospered  and  heard  no  tidings  of  the  soul! 

HERAKLES 

0  breaking  heart !  —  Is  there  no  hope  at  all 
Of  any  tolerable  issue  ? 

TEIRESIAS 

Peace ! 
Hear  me,  for  I  declare  the  words  of  God !  — 

1  stood  upon  the  mountain,  and  the  voice 

Of  God  spoke  in  my  soul,  saying:   "It  dawns! 

"My  light  dawns  in  the  soul  of  Herakles! 

"Faint  and  afar  his  eyes  have  seen  the  Light; 

"  His  heart  receives  the  gracious  and  divine 

"  Nativity,  and  radiant  is  his  mind 

*'  With  rapture,  and  he  hails  the  light  with  joy ! 

"  He  feels  a  splendour  in  his  strength ;  he  sees 

4<  Burn  with  clear  flame  the  torch  of  his  resolve; 

"  The  door  of  his  deliverance  stands  wide 

"  Asunder  in  the  vista  of  his  vision ; 

"  His  hope  is  on  the  way ;  his  faith  is  full ; 

"His  winged  ambition  soars  into  the  sun! " 

[    150    ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 
So,  in  the  Dawn  of  Light,  it  was  with  me! 

TEIRESIAS 

The  voice  of  God  spoke  in  my  soul,  saying: 
"Man  is  not  saved  because  he  sees  the  truth: 
"  He  must  be  true  before  his  task  is  done ! 
"  Dawn  crimsons  on  the  mountain  crest  of  thought, 
"  While  still  inert,  disfranchised,  unredeemed, 
"The  substance  and  the  self  of  human  being 
"  Lie  far  below  in  that  sepulchral  night, 
"Wherein,  like  spectres  moving  in  a  trance, 
"  Like  candles  briefly  kindled  and  consumed, 
"The  countless  unambitious  multitudes 
"  Of  mortal  men  exist  at  all  adventure, 
"Timid  and  credulous  of  what  they  seem, 
"Fostered  or  blasted  by  the  winds  of  chance. 
"Therefore,  tho5  Herakles  has  seen  the  Light, 
"The  long  captivities  of  ignorance 
"And  pain  and  force  and  fear  constrain  his  soul: 
"  He  has  not  even  reckoned  with  the  price, 
"  Nor  counted  with  the  cost  of  liberty ; 
"He  has  not  learned  how  much  the  flame  con 
sumes 

"Which  purifies,  —  how  much  the  light  dissolves 
"  Which  shows  the  truth,  —  how  much  perfection  is, 
"To  all  imperfect,  happy,  human  things, 
"  Ruin  and  desolation ! " 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

Desolation 

Ruin And  then,  redemption  ? 

j 

TEIRESIAS 

Hear  the  voice 

Of  God !  —  it  cries  out  in  my  spirit,  saying, 
"  More  light !  More  light !  More  truth  for  Herakles ! — 
"  Light  to  dissolve,  perfection  to  destroy, 
"  Truth  to  lay  waste  and  ruin  and  make  smooth, 

"  Make  straight  and  smooth  the  pathway  of  the  soul ! 

"  Haste !  —  lest  the  saviour  and  the  soul  be  lost, 

"  Man's  birthright  forfeit,  and  the  soul's  supreme 

"  Ambition  bartered  for  a  little  thing ! 

"  Haste !  —  and  exhort  the  man  enslaved  to  wear 

"  No  more  the  chains  of  his  captivity ! 

"  There  is  no  virtue  he  shall  not  forego 

"Who  fears  and  palters  with  the  price  of  truth; 

"  There  is  no  excellence  or  liberation 

"  He  shall  not  earn  who  dares  to  undergo 

"  The  mighty  labours  and  the  sacrifice 

"Which  win  the  soul's  way  out  of  servitude!" 

HERAKLES 

Where  is  the  God  who  bade  your  steps  come  hither, 
Your  voice  speak  out  the  doom  of  Herakles  ? 
Where  is  the  God  ?  —  unless  within  the  soul 
Of  man  divinity  resides  unborn 

•   [    152    ] 


EIGHTH  SCENE 

Why  do  you  seek  to  cheat  me  with  a  phrase 
And  thwart  my  understanding  with  a  name  ? 
It  is  your  voice  I  hear  and  yours  alone !  — 
Blind,  wretched  Soothsayer  —  where  is  the  God  ? 

TEIRESIAS 

Bear  with  him,  Loxias,  for  his  agony 
Is  more  than  mortal  grief ! 

HERAKLES 

Where  is  the  God  ? 
Where  is  the  God  ?  —  if  God  there  be  at  all ! 

CREON 
Haply  at  Delphi,  in  his  sacred  house. 

TEIRESIAS 

God  dwells  wherever  He  is  well  received 
And  welcome  in  the  life  and  soul  of  man. 

HERAKLES 

Delphi  ? At  Delphi  I  will  seek  the  God ! 

And  if  He  is,  and  man  may  find  him  out, 
There  will  I  meet  him  face  to  face  at  last!.. 


End  of  the  Eighth  Scene. 


NINTH  SCENE 


Before  the  Temple  0}  Apollo  at  Delphi. 

HERAKLES  stands  alone  near  the  steps  of  the  Temple. 


NINTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 
I  left  them  in  the  quiet  house  —  my  sons, 

My  woman  and  my  whole  heart's  happiness ! 

And  all  my  life,  and  all  my  self  that  was 
The  world's  great  Captain  in  its  little  wars, 
The  pride  and  praise  of  men,  I  left  behind ! 
Now,  standing  here  by  this  prophetic  shrine, 
I  am  alone  and  exiled  and  bereaved, 
I  am  forsaken,  heart-sick,  comfortless, — 
I  am  resolved  to  read  the  riddle  out 

And  search  the  secret  till  I  understand! 

Lost  am  I  —  lost !  I  know  not  where  I  am ; 
I  know  not  where  I  go ;  —  but  whence  I  come 
I  know  too  well !  —  O  this  is  all  my  guidance : 
The  passion  to  be  other  than  I  am 
And  realize  self  in  the  strict  terms  of  truth ! 
The  light  is  not  —  and  yet  the  twilight  is 

About  me,  glimmering  like  a  moonlit  mist 

And  like  a  ghost  I  walk  unreconciled, 
Dubious  and  undetermined  and  forlorn, 
Fearing  the  day,  yet  longing  for  the  light ! 
O  promised  Dawn !  —  when  you  are  come  at  last, 
What  shall  your  light  disclose  ?  —  some  spectacle 
[    157    ] 


HERAKLES 

Of  tragic  desolation,  —  lonely  days 

And  loveless  nights  and  long,  laborious, 

Monstrous,  intolerable  servitudes  ?  — 

Or  shall  I  stand  at  once,  as  I  have  dreamed, 

With  all  I  love  in  the  high  place  of  Peace, 

Dilate  as  with  the  Universal  being, 

Filled  and  fulfilled  with  your  serenities  ? 

The  great  doors  of  the  Temple  slowly  open.  In  the  dark 
twilight  of  His  house  the  shrine  of  the  God  and  the 
veil  behind  it  are  dimly  visible.  The  PROPHETES 
appears  upon  the  threshold.  HERAKLES  turns  his 
face  toward  him. 

The  PROPHETES 

What  voice  of  wretchedness  and  wild  unrest 
Cries  out  before  the  House  of  God  ? 

HERAKLES 

My  voice 

Knew  not  the  tones  and  tears  of  grief  till  now ! 
After  a  life  of  strength  and  high  resolve 
This  is  my  hour  of  doubt  and  blind  appeal, 
This  is  my  hour  of  agony ! 

The  PROPHETES 

The  God 

Knows  neither  lamentation  nor  unrest: 
His  calm  perfection  hears  no  human  voice. 
[    158    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 
There  is  one  voice  He  shall  not  choose  but  hear ! 

The  voice  of  the  PYTHIA 

sounding  in  ecstasy  from  behind  the  veil  within  the 
Temple.  As  she  speaks  a  CHORUS  of  men  and 
women,  worshippers  of  the  God,  assemble  upon  the 
Temple  steps. 

Before  the  House  of  God 

They  grieve  and  they  rejoice 

Whose  utmost  light  is  of  the  common  day, 

Whose  aimless  feet  along  the  trampled  sod 

Tread  the  strait  precinct  of  the  public  way, 

Whose  lives  are  like  a  pageant  passing  by 

Within  the  House  of  God 

No  ear  receives  their  incoherent  voice; 

No  eye 

Is  witness  to  the  deeds  their  days  have  done ! 

Like  mummers  at  a  carnival 

They  flaunt  their  scant  disguise,  and  one  by  one 

Go  out  into  the  dark  in  silence,  after  all 

The  CHORUS 

Only  a  windy  light  no  eye  perceives ; 
Only  a  thrill  of  joy,  a  pang  of  grief; 
Only  a  voice  crying  where  silence  is, 
Where  none  respond  and  the  brave  song  is  brief; 
Only  the  plaything  of  blind  destinies, 
[  159  ] 


HERAKLES 

Which  ends  in  nothing  as  it  once  began ;  — 
So  is  the  life  of  man ! 

The  PROPHETES 

There  is  no  shadow  of  imperfect  things 
Cast  on  the  glory  of  God's  excellence : 
Filled  with  eternal  light,  His  rapt  regard 
Perceives  no  grieved,  importunate  human  face ! 

HERAKLES 
There  is  one  face  He  shall  not  fail  to  see ! 

The  CHORUS 

We  live  upon  the  threshold  of  His  house, 
And  there  like  children  sport  with  idle  things; 
We  are  a  voice  that  weeps,  a  voice  that  sings, 
A  hand  that  traces  in  the  senseless  dust 
The  little  hazard  of  our  happenings. 
Ours  is  a  time  for  turmoil  and  carouse ; 
Ours  is  a  time  for  sickness,  sleep,  and  tears, 
Labour  and  laughter,  love  and  lust; 

Ours  is  a  time  to  come,  a  time  to  go ! 

Yet  fearfully  we  feel,  dimly  we  know 
That  all  the  while  we  live,  thro*  all  our  years, 
Which  run  out,  futile  and  disused,  before 
The  threshold  of  His  holy  House,  the  door, 
Dark  with  the  gloom  of  unfamiliar  fears, 
Behind  us,  ever  and  alway, 

Waits  to  receive  us ! Yet  we  dread 

[    160    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

To  turn  our  feet  from  the  strait  way  they  tread ! 

Yea !  tho'  our  hearts,  unsatisfied,  are  rife 

With  doubts  and  questions  that  will  not  depart, 

We  dare  not  ask  or  seek  or  knock 

Or  lay  strong  hands  on  the  unguarded  lock. 

Rather  from  day  to  day 

We  cheat  the  mind  with  work  and  dreams  and 

strife, 

We  cheat  the  love-sick  heart 
With  passion  and  blind  love  that  perisheth, — 
Until  from  all  our  toys  we  are  taken  away, 

And  in  unspeakable  loneliness  depart ! 

Then,  thro'  the  door  of  destiny  and  death, 

Which  is  the  door  of  truth's  eternal  life, 

We  men,  whose  times  were  squandered  on  the 

sill 

Of  the  soul's  dwelling-place,  — 
Who  found  not  virtue,  strength,  or  will 
To  slant  the  door  and  meet  Him  face  to  face,  — 
Unborn,  unwaked,  unwise,  and  comfortless, 
Pass  from  life's  nothing  into  nothingness ! 

HERAKLES 

Children  of  men,  there  is  one  voice  of  power 
He  shall  not  choose  but  hear ;  one  fearless  face 
He  shall  not  fail  to  see! — My  voice  shall  call 
To  rouse  the  Lord ;  my  hand  shall  slant  the  door ; 
Mine  eyes  shall  meet  Him  face  to  face  at  last ! 


HERAKLES 

The  PROPHETES 

None  can  endure  the  grandeur  of  His  gaze; 
None  can  receive  the  splendour  of  His  speech ! 

HERAKLES 

There  is  one  eye  His  glance  shall  not  confound ! 
There  is  one  soul  His  speech  shall  not  appal ! 

The  CHORUS 
Behind  us  and  before  us 
The  shadow  is, 

Whose  incommensurable  silences 
Never  make  answer  to  life's  thundered  chorus . . 
And  in  our  hands  we  bear  the  little  light 
Of  life  across  the  huge  and  haunted  night 
A  windy  mile  or  so; 

And  whence  we  come  and  whither  we  shall  go 
We  know  not  and  we  fear  to  know ! 

The  voice  of  the  PYTHIA 

as  before 

Yet  may  the  inward  eye  perceive, 
Hardly,  and  thro'  the  darkness  faint  and  far, 
Truth's  single,  stedfast  star; 
And  learn,  by  vigil,  to  receive 
The  light;  and,  careless  of  the  goal, 
In  the  divine  impatience  of  the  soul, 

Forfeit  all  hopes  and  fears  to  follow  on ! 

[    162    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

Yet  may  the  heart's  unuttered  love  believe 

That  somewhere  the  majestic  sun 

Of  knowledge  shines  on  calm  immensities, 

And  drowns  in  light  death's  dark  infinities ! 

Yet  may  the  restless  mind  at  last  devise 

Some  scale  and  measure  for  the  worth  of  things, 

And  rise,  and  valorously  depart, 

Led  by  the  vision  of  the  inward  eyes, 

Flushed  with  the  rapt  assurance  of  the  heart, 

Wearied  and  scornful  of  their  parleyings, 

Their  dreams  and  games  and  profits,  who  before 

The  threshold  of  the  shadowed  door, 

Build  of  base  earth  their  human  paradise !  — 

Yet  may  a  man,  at  length, 

Feel  in  the  secret  sources  of  his  strength 

The  power  to  ask,  to  seek,  to  knock, 

To  force,  if  need  be,  the  unguarded  lock, 

And,  in  the  solitude  where  none  else  are, 

To  set  the  great,  dark  door  ajar, 

And  live,  and  enter,  and  with  words  of  power  rouse 

The  Master  of  the  House ! 

The  CHORUS 

It  may  be,  as  the  Spirit  saith, 
That  whoso  slants  the  shadowed  door, 
Thereafter,  deathless  at  the  core, 
Pursues  his  way  thro'  life  and  death 
As  one  who  walks  an  endless  road, 
t    163    ] 


HERAKLES 

Chequered  with  sun  and  shade,  to  some  ineffable 

abode ! 

It  may  be,  as  our  dreams  aver, 
Beyond  the  door  which  none  have  passed, 
The  asker  and  the  answerer, 
The  seeker  and  the  truth,  at  last, 

Are  single  and  supremely  one! 

It  may  be,  when  the  gate  is  won, 
That  whoso  stands  within  the  door 
Exults  with  love's  transcendent  youth 
In  calm  eternities  of  truth 
Where,  as  with  God's  immortal  breath, 

The  soul  forever  and  forever  quickeneth ! 

But  we,  whose  lives  are  spent  before 

The  threshold  of  the  House  of  God, 

We  only  know  it  is  not  thus 

Ever  for  one  of  us ! 

Rather  we  know  not  what  is  worst  or  best, 

And  we  are  wearied,  and  we  find  no  rest, — 

And  there  is  haply  rest  beneath  the  sod ! 

Therefore,  as  life  has  taught  us,  so  we  deem 
Time  is  the  little  way  from  birth  to  death 
Which  flowers  and  stars  and  countless  men  have  trod 
And  found  no  reason  of  their  wretchedness, 
No  pondered  justice  first  or  last, 
No  light  to  guide,  no  Saviour  to  redeem ! 
So,  in  the  passion  of  our  heart's  distress, 
Our  minds  inert,  incurious,  and  afraid, 
I    164    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

Receive  the  witness  of  the  woful  past 

And  worship  at  the  shrines  our  fathers  made. 

And  well  we  know,  when  all  is  said, 

Tho'  faith  and  hope  caress  their  dream, 

That  life  and  death  and  sorrow  and  loneliness 

Do  something  more  to  us  than  merely  seem ! 

HERAKLES 

0  Children !  —  O  my  frightened  Children  !  —  Peace ! 
Children  of  men,  it  is  not  as  you  deem !  — 

Hear  me !  —  I  say  life  palters  with  the  price 
Of  Truth's  for-everlasting  gift  and  grace !  — 
I,  in  my  hour  of  weakness,  I  have  dealt 
In  mean  economies,  and  sapped  my  strength, 
And  vexed  the  soul's  resolve  with  lamentation ! 

1  too  have  feared  and  suffered !  —  and  even  now 
I  am  afraid  —  I  suffer  —  I  am  not  strong ! 

I  see  before  me  with  a  black  despair 

The  prospect  of  my  desolation !  —  Yea, 

And  worse,  it  may  be,  if  the  worst  come  true !  — 

The  prospect  of  a  life's  intolerable, 

Infamous  servitude ! And  in  my  mind 

There  is  a  kind  of  madness  without  name 

Even  to  think  of  it,  —  and  a  red  mist 

Of  blood  drowning  the  vision  of  mine  eyes ! 

He  pauses;  then  speaks  again.  As  he  speaks,  he  mounts 

the  steps  and  crosses  the  threshold  of  the  Temple. 
Children  of  men,  I  bring  you  somewhat  more 


HERAKLES 

Than  hope !  Mine  eyes  have  sundered  darknesses , 
I  have  beheld  the  star  of  truth  and  seen 

The  sun  of  knowledge  dawn  over  the  soul 

I  have  devised  ascending  gyres  of  thought, 

And  climbed  into  the  prospect  of  perfection 

I  have  turned  inward  from  the  spectacle 

And  florid  insignificance  of  what 

The  rank  world  reckons  as  the  life  of  man, 

And  set  my  strength  against  the  shadowed  door, 

And  come  at  last  living  into  his  house, 

And  called  the  Master  with  a  mighty  voice ! 

Him  will  I  meet  with  face  to  face,  and  feel 

His  power,  and  hear  His  secrets  in  my  ear ! 

And  living  as  I  go  I  shall  return, 

And  bring  you  news  and  tidings  of  the  Lord! — 

The  PROPHETES 

Forbear !   No  man  may  trespass  in  the  House 
Of  God,  lest  desolation  worse  than  death 
Leave  him  bereaved  and  naked  to  the  soul ! 
Forbear !  —  Inflexible  as  knowledge  is, 
Calm  as  perfection,  merciless  as  truth, 
So  is  the  God  —  and  no  man  may  endure 
His  real  presence  and  thereafter  live ! 

The  voice  of  the  PYTHIA 

as  before 
His  Spirit  is 
Like  a  vase  of  diamond 

[    166    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

Brimmed  with  eternal  springs  of  living  light 

His  heart  of  clear  religious  ecstasies, 
Tranquil,  transfigured,  true  humanities, 
In  love's  grave  gardens  of  divine  delight, 

Feels  the  immortal  heart  of  life  respond 

His  thought  is  spacious  and  serene 
And  like  a  consecrated  place 
Where  knowledge  is  the  soul  of  grace, 
And  truth  alone  is  heard  and  seen 
And  who,  with  undiverted  will, 
As  He  is  perfect  dares  to  be, 
And,  in  despite  of  grief  and  fear, 
Has  crossed  alone  the  sacred  sill, — 
His  voice  He  shall  not  choose  but  hear, 
His  face  He  shall  not  fail  to  see: 
To  him  the  very  God  is  near !  — 
And,  as  his  soul  shall  understand, 

To  him  the  Spirit  and  the  Truth  are  close  at  hand ! 

HERAKLES  makes  a  motion   to   advance  into  the 
Temple. 

The  PROPHETES 
Forbear ! 

HERAKLES 

Stern  guardian  of  the  Sacred  Door, 
I  know  the  shining  garments  of  the  soul, 
Which  all  must  wear  who  enter  in  His  house, 
It  well  may  be  are  robes  of  hueless  flame 
In  which  my  human  being  and  heart  and  even 
[    167    ] 


HERAKLES 

This  rugged  vesture  of  mortality, 

Which  tempers  truth  and  makes  perfection  mild, 

Must  perish  away  and  all  be  quite  consumed 

Yet  is  there  that  within  me  which  compels, 
And  will  not  rest,  and  is  resolved  to  go ! 

While  all  wait  in  silence,  HERAKLES  enters  the 
Temple,  approaches  the  altar,  rends  the  veil,  and 
discloses  the  PYTHIA  seated  upon  the  tripod. 
He  disappears  into  the  darkness  of  the  inner  Temple. 
A  moment  later  he  reappears,  overthrows  the  tripod, 
and  comes  to  the  door  of  the  Temple,  dragging  with 
him  the  PYTHIA.  He  thrusts  the  PYTHIA 
forth  upon  the  steps,  and  himself  remains  standing 
within  the  Temple  door. 

The  shrine  is  empty !  Speak,  false  prophetess ! 
Where  is  the  God  ? 

The  PYTHIA 

Where  else  but  in  His  house! 

HERAKLES 
I  am  alone  within  the  House  of  God ! 


The  PYTHIA 
in  utmost  ecstasy 

Melt  in  His  arms !  Resist  not !  Care  not !  Strive 
No  more,  for  He  is  quiet  and  merciless; 
And  by  His  means  shall  naught  grow  less, 

But  all  that  is  shall  greater  grow ! 

[    168    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

For,  save  with  His  transcendent  life, 

Within  His  mansions  none  may  live; 

And,  as  He  prospers,  even  so 

All  thoughts  and  things,  transfigured,  thrive ! 

His  truth  is  like  a  shining  knife 

Which  slays,  in  sense  and  heart  and  brain, 

Till  what  was  perishable  is  slain  — 

And  lives !  —  transmuted,  born  again 

Dilate  with  His  immortal  breath ! 

He  keeps  no  least  account  with  pain, 
With  desolation,  tears,  and  death ! 
Perfect  and  pure  as  knowledge  is, 
He  has  no  private  end  to  gain; 
No  covenant,  no  terms  to  make; 
No  silences 

To  keep;  no  death  to  fear;  no  heart  to  break!. 
Man's  eyes  are  clouded  with  distress; 
The  heart  of  man  is  vexed  and  twain ; 
The  mind  of  man  is  caged  and  caught, 
Nor  dares  with  lifted  wings  go  free ;  — 
His  eyes  are  quiet  as  calm  dawns  at  sea, 
And  single,  and  His  heart  is  one; 
His  perfect  love  is  pitiless, 
And  asks  no  less  than  all  that  man  can  give, 
And  will  not  suffer  that  man  come  to  naught, 
And  will  not  punish  or  forgive; 
His  mind,  like  some  majestic  sun, 
Centres  the  vast,  expanding  gyres  of  thought!., 
[    169    ] 


HERAKLES 

Melt  in  His  arms  and  cease  from  strife! 

He  wakes ! He  lives ! The  Lord  has  come, 

And  all  is  glorified  thereof ! 

Melt  in  His  arms !  —  and,  for  the  larger  life, 

Forfeit  the  life  you  cherished  and  the  love 

That  once  was  all  your  happiness  and  home ! 

At  last  the  Lord  of  Love  and  Life  appears, 

And,  in  His  being's  excellence, 

The  little  life  of  hopes  and  fears, 

The  little  love  of  self  and  sense 

Dissolve  —  exalted  to  magnificence ! 

HERAKLES 

to  the  PYTHIA,  almost  in  appeal 
Who  is  the  Lord — the  God?  —  and  where  is  He?- 

The  PYTHIA 

as  before 

Who  asks  is  answered  by  His  voice; 
Who  dares  advance  is  on  the  road; 
Whose  soul  is  free  and  fain  to  choose, 
Has  made  the  truth's  transcendent  choice; 
Who  seeks  the  God  has  found  the  God; 
Who  knocks  is  Master  of  the  House ! 

HERAKLES 

with  a  great  cry 

Mine  is  the  desolation  and  the  death ! 
f    170    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

The  PYTHIA 

as  before 
Yours  is  the  resurrection  and  the  life ! 

HERAKLES 
I  am  the  God ! 

The  PYTHIA 

as  before 

There  is  no  God  but  I !  — 
I  am  whatever  is ! 

I  am  despair  and  hope  and  love  and  hate, 
Freedom  and  fate, 

Life's  plangent  cry,  Death's  stagnant  silences!..., 
I  am  the  earth  and  sea  and  sky, 
The  race,  the  runner  and  the  goal ; 
I  am  the  part  and  I  the  whole ;  — 
There  is  no  thought  nor  thing  but  I ! 
Children,  behold !  —  the  East  is  white ! 
I  see  it  dawn  across  the  dark !  — 
I  see  the  daybreak  of  the  light 
That  truth  has  kindled  in  the  conscious  soul ! 
And  hark,  my  Children !  —  O  my  Children,  hark  ! 
For  nearer  now,  and  yet  more  near, 
And  still  afar,  and  wordless  still,  I  hear 
The  music  of  the  soul's  puissant  voice 
Rejoice 

With  festival  in  the  heart  and  ecstasies 
For  man's  deliverance ! 


HERAKLES 

Therefore  cry  welcome!  for  the  Master  is 

Come  to  His  own  divine  inheritance ! 

Cry  welcome!  for  the  Lord  of  all, 

The  Love,  the  Life,  the  Strength  is  come  — 

The  rightful  Heir,  the  Prodigal, 

After  long  exile,  now  returneth  home ! 

The  CHORUS 

Strophe  I 

Truly  we  care  not  for  the  truth, 
We  care  not  and  we  dare  not  care ;  — 
But  life  and  love  and  health  and  youth, 
These  things,  we  know,  are  sweet  and  fair ! 

Antistrophe  I 

Yet  love  is  false,  and  life  is  brief, 
And  youth  and  health  and  hope  depart, 
And  troubled  is  the  human  heart 
With  fear  and  agony  and  grief. 

Strophe  II 

And  why  life  is  we  dare  not  ask, 
And  what  is  death  we  dare  not  guess ; 
In  doubt,  despair,  and  weariness 
We  shirk  the  truth's  unending  task. 

Antistrophe  II 

It  may  be  that  the  truth  repays 
Thought's  endless  toil  to  reach  its  goal; 
[    172    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

It  may  be  God  is  in  the  soul, 
And  wakens  after  many  days 

Epode 

But  we  have  neither  part  nor  lot 
With  truth's  far-sought  and  fabled  grace : 
Wherever  is  God's  dwelling-place, 
In  all  our  lives  we  find  Him  not ! 

HERAKLES 

Coward  and  weak  and  abject! O  my  Soul!  — 

How  long  the  dark  persuasion  of  my  fears 
Has  wrought  deception,  and  consoled  the  heart 

With  lies  of  some  conceivable  escape! 

How  long  even  I  have  dreamed  false  dreams  of  God, 
As  of  some  other  than  the  self  I  know, 
To  whom  might  meanly,  secretly  be  shifted 
The  endless  labour  of  the  soul's  perfection, 
The  mystery  of  being,  and  the  deep, 

Unuttered  meaning  of  the  Universe ! 

Now,  self-revealed,  at  last,  and  self-confessed 

The  Lord,  alone  responsible  and  real, 

I  stand  defenceless,  sleepless,  undeceived, — 

Naked  before  the  truth !  —  What  more  is  death 

Than  my  bereavement  and  my  solitude  ? 

What  more  is  death  ?  —  and  what  can  death  do 

more 
Than  rob  the  Spirit  of  its  resting-place, 


HERAKLES 

Its  refuge  of  insensibility, 

And  leave  it  outcast,  as  my  soul  is  left, 

Doomed  to  incessant  vigil  and  unrest  ? 

What  more  is  death  ?  —  for  what  is  life,  indeed,  — 

The  life  I  lose  to  gain  death's  larger  life, — 

With  all  its  needs  and  greeds  and  appetites, 

Its  florid  hungers,  its  satieties, 

Its  humble  hopes  and  gross  credulities, 

Than  the  dark  cup  of  Lethe  to  the  soul? — 

A  prison-house,  in  whose  captivity 

The  soul  finds  rest  and  slumber  and  reprieve  ? 

And  now,  no  more !  no  more !  —  O  nakedness ! 

O  desolation !  O  bereavement !  —  Where, 

Where  shall  the  Spirit  now  go  home  to  rest 

From  vigil  in  the  twilight  of  the  frontiers, — 

From  the  brave  light  and  the  persuading  darkness, 

The  boundless  solitudes  and  passionless 

Immensities  of  the  awakened  self? 

Where  shall  the  soul  go  home  ? And,  even  when 

At  last  the  mind's  abysmal  darknesses 
Fill  with  some  huge  tranquillity  of  light, 
How,  in  that  revelation,  shall  the  soul 

Find  place  and  reason  and  the  forward  path  ? 

Where  is  there  rest  or  comfort  any  more  ? 
And  whither  shall  the  tasked  adventurer 
Find  respite  or  reprieve  ?  O  nevermore, 
No-whither  shall  he  find  the  breast  of  sleep ! 
And  know  you  well  it  is  a  bitter  thing 
[    174    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

To  die  —  and  in  the  thrilling  solitude 

Of  death,  to  live  —  and  labour,  ever  and  ever 

Afoot  and  sleepless  with  the  vision  of  truth ! 

Life  is  a  bitter  thing  to  lose,  and  love 

And  home  and  wife  and  child  and  happiness 

And  rest  and  the  contentment  of  mild  joys 

And  small  achievements  and  brief  brilliant  glories :- 

These  all  are  welcome  and  pleasurable  things, 

And  bitter  things  to  lose! And  know  you  well 

It  is  a  bitter  thing  to  go  adrift, 
Companionless  and  without  pause  or  end, 
Into  the  vast  dark  spaces  of  the  soul ; — 
To  dwell,  sense-stripped  and  naked  to  the  core, 
In  the  chill  heights  of  man's  divinity ! 

The  PYTHIA 

as  before 
God  knows,  and  I,  who  dwell  with  God,  I  know 

Truth  is  a  bitter  thing  to  undergo ; 

And  life's  perfected  metamorphosis 
From  man  to  God  shall  hardly  come  to  pass 
Save  in  exceeding  travail  and  grief  and  pain. 
Only  in  anguish  man  is  born  again, 

Other  and  more  and  mightier  than  he  was ! 

Only  with  strange  and  tragic  ecstasies 
Of  body  and  being,  mind  and  heart, 
Life's  human  chrysalis 
Is  torn  asunder,  and  ruined,  and  rent  apart, 
[    175    ] 


HERAKLES 

To  loose  man's  winged  divinity 

Into  the  light  of  truth,  the  skies  of  liberty !, 


Yet,  tho'  the  birth-pangs  of  the  soul, 

Which  will  live  perfectly 

With  labour  in  its  own  eternity, 

Are  as  the  very  agony  of  death, — 

God  knows  no  fraction  of  the  human  whole 

Is  there  that  wholly  perisheth ! 

Rather  in  his  regard,  whose  human  eye, 

After  long  vigil  in  thought's  starlit  sky, 

Calmly  enspheres  the  equable  and  vast 

Clear  circumspection  of  the  eye  of  God, — 

Who  has  gone  on  his  way  where  none  before  have 

trod,  — 

Who,  in  a  single  vision,  sees  at  last 
What  was  and  is  and  what  shall  surely  be, — 
Nothing  of  all  man  seems  to  lose  is  lost 
When  man  is  slain  in  God's  nativity! 
O,  rather,  whoso  pays  the  utmost  cost, 
All  things  in  their  degree 
To  him  in  strict  accounting  profit  most! 

The  CHORUS 

Strophe  I 

How,  when,  and  wherefore  does  he  profit  most 
Who  pays  the  utmost  cost  — 
Tears  and  blood, 

[    176    ] 


NINTH  SCENE 

Labour  and  sacrifice, 

Anguish,  bereavement,  fear? 

How  does  he  gain  his  life  whose  life  is  lost  ? 

For  life  is  one  and  must  alone  suffice; 

For  life  is  brief  and  time  is  like  a  flood 

Which  no  man  has  withstood; 

And  God  is  silent,  and  He  is  not  here 

To  prove  such  ill  things  good. 

Antistrophe  I 

How,  why,  and  wherefore  is  it  manifest 
How  of  these  worst  things  can  derive  the  best  ?  — 
Joy  from  despair  and  strength  from  sacrifice; 
Freedom  and  clear  tranquillities  and  faith 
From  doubt  and  long,  enslaved,  laborious  years ; 
And  gain  from  loss  and  God  from  man  and  life 

from  death  ? 

What  can  be  worth  to  man  so  great  a  price  ? 
Whence  comes  his  profit  when  this  price  is  paid  ? 
When  all  is  over  and  done,  is  sung  and  said, — 
When  life  is  waste  and   barren  with  blood  and 

tears,  — 

Whence  shall  the  soul  receive  sufficiently  ? 

What  shall  the  soul  receive  for  life's  enforced 

catastrophe  ? 

Strophe  II 

There  is  no  answer !  God,  if  God  there  be, 
Hears  not  our  voice  or  hears  it  silently. 

[    177    ] 


HERAKLES 

There  is  no  answer  save  the  one  we  give, 

Who  have  learned  something,  since  we  learn  and  live, 

And  who  are  wise  at  least  as  men  are  wise. 

Have  we  not  seen  the  glory  of  the  skies, 

Felt  the  wide  wonder  of  the  shoreless  sea,— 

And  made  our  homes  on  earth,  where  we  must  be 

Whether  we  will  or  no  ? 

Have  we  not  learned  in  bitterness  to  know 

It  matters  nothing  what  we  deem  or  do, 

Whether  we  find  the  false  or  seek  the  true, 

The  profit  of  our  lives  is  vain  and  small  ? 

Have  we  not  found,  whatever  price  is  paid, 

Man  is  forever  cheated  and  betrayed  ?  — 

So  shall  the  soul  at  last  be  cheated  after  all ! 

Antistrophe  11 

Therefore  we  care  not  what  the  soul  may  gain 
Or  what  the  soul  may  lose : 

Theirs  be  the  doubt,  who  dream !  We  take  the  plain, 
Hard,  certain  way,  and  ask  no  great  reward, — 
Knowing  how  much  *t  is  certain,  plain,  and  hard 
That  by  no  wise  invention  or  device 
May  we  in  the  least  measure  change  or  choose 
What  our  to-morrow  brings. 
Wisely  we  ask  no  more  than  will  suffice 
For  life's  least  good  and  lowest  reckonings. 
And  thus,  tho'  we  are  troubled  with  many  things, 
Yet  to  the  soul's  concern  our  hearts  are  cold ; 


NINTH  SCENE 

Tho'  cheaply,  day  by  day,  our  lives  are  sold, 
Yet  are  we  cheerful  with  a  little  price. 

HERAKLES 

Coward  and  weak  and  abject! O  my  Soul! — 

O  God  within  me — grave  and  perfect  Lord' 
Of  life !  —  what  passions,  what  rebellious  tears, 
What  wild,  weak  voice  of  longing  and  despair 
Have  cried  against  thee  in  thy  dwelling-place ! 
How  have  I  wronged  thy  courage,  strength,  and  pride ! 
What  lamentable  lies  have  lured  my  heart! 
What  chill  of  blind  alarm  has  tamed  my  blood ! 
What  sordid  thrift,  what  weakness,  what  despair, 
Have  poisoned  all  my  being  with  lassitude ! 

0  human  souls,  my  equals !  —  Well  I  know 
How  like  a  plaintive  and  impoverished  man, 
How  scared  and  weak  with  old  captivities, 

You  have  beheld  and  heard  me !  —  Yet,  perchance, 

It  may  be  even  a  brave  man  in  his  time 

May  shed  some  tears  for  a  whole  high  life's  ruin — 

And  take  no  shame  of  it!  A  man  may  weep! 

But  God  is  in  the  soul !  He  wakes  in  me, 

And  radiant  in  the  dawn  of  light,  uplifts 

A  mighty  voice  of  ineffable  music, — wings 

Of  song  that  rise  where,  round  the  heights  of  heaven, 

Cluster  the  throned  beatitudes ! Behold ! 

1  am  resolved  to  death,  to  tears  and  blood, 
To  desolation  and  intolerable 

[    179    ] 


HERAKLES 

Bereavement,  —  to  the  worst  that  needs  must  be ! 

And  to  the  best,  to  new  nativities, 

I  am  resolved !  And  I  will  stand  apart, 

Naked  and  perfect  in  my  solitude, 

Aloft  in  the  clear  light  perpetually, — 

Having  afforded  to  the  uttermost 

The  blood-stained,  tear-drenched  ransom   of    the 

soul! 

Having  by  sacrifice,  by  sacrifice 
Severed  his  bondage  and  redeemed  the  God  — 
The  God  I  am  indeed !  For  man  is  slain, 
And  in  his  death  is  God  illustrious, 

And  lives! And  I  will  live,  and  sternly  make 

The  grandeur  of  my  purpose  manifest, 

And  take  my  profit  in  the  treasure-house 

Of  truth,  where  none  may  enter  save  the  Soul! 


End  of  the  Ninth  Scene. 


TENTH  SCENE 


Thebes.  Before  the  house  of  HERAKLES. 

Nightfall. 

ALCMENA  and  MEGARA  are  seated  by  the  threshold  in  the 
last,  low  light  of  sunset.  The  POET  andthe  WOMAN  stand 
in  shadow  by  the  house-wall.  The  CHORUS  OF  OLD 
MEN  are  seated  by  the  steps  of  the  Temple  of  Hera,  at  some 
distance. 


TENTH   SCENE 

ALCMENA 

My  life  burns  dimly,  like  a  famished  lamp 
Wasting  at  midnight,  for  my  son's  return 

MEGARA 

My  life  burns,  and  my  love  burns  stedfast !  —  clear 
And  calm  and  candid  as  a  guarded  flame 
Of  assignation  and  of  sacred  vigil, 
Quietly  in  the  casement  of  his  home 

The  WOMAN 

My  life  burns  keenly,  like  a  glutted  fire 
Set  at  the  pier-head  by  a  wind-swept  sea 
To  be  his  land-fall  and  his  harbinger ! 


MEGARA 

Like  flowers  unheeded  in  a  desert  place, 
The  long  days  one  by  one  wither  away; 
The  long  nights,  still  and  stainless,  one  by  one 
Turn,  with  the  wan,  weak  daybreak  in  their  hair, 
Dismantled  of  its  starry  diadems, 
And,  chill  and  livid  as  a  lifeless  face, 
Pass  —  as  the  vast  light  strengthens  and  it  dawns  ! . 
And  day  and  night  find  me  and  leave  me  here, 


HERAKLES 

Where,  solitary,  about  the  open  door, 
I  wait  for  his  return,  and  keep  his  house, 
And  give  his  sons  and  mine  lovingly  bread 
And  care  and  welfare  and  serenity. 
Yet,  in  despite  of  all  I  do,  my  life 
Seems  like  a  fruitful  field  unharvested 
While  he  is  far  adventured  and  in  peril 
About  such  secret  business  of  the  soul 

ALCMENA 

It  is  the  virtue  and  necessity 
Of  women,  with  such  courage  as  we  use, 
Thus,  by  the  threshold  and  the  fire-light, 
To  serve  life's  large  intent,  and  wait  alone, 
Strong  and  undaunted,  for  the  man  to  come, 
Who  is  abroad,  eager  with  lusts  and  dreams 

And  pastimes Thus  the  sane  and  serious  strength 

Of  life's  true  cause,  in  us  exemplified, 
Patient  in  us,  prevails  and  shall  prevail. 

The  WOMAN 

It  is  the  virtue  and  necessity 
Of  every  soul  to  watch  and  wait  alone, 
Patient  and  faithful,  till  the  Saviour  comes! 


The  POET 

Many  shall  come  with  gospels  of  salvation, 
Mysterious  and  august;  with  ecstasies 
[    184    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

And  partial  laws  and  rapt,  peculiar  creeds. 
Many  shall  come,  with  mystic  loves  and  faiths, 
With  strange  conversions  and  perverted  lusts, 
With  formal  beauties  and  facilities. 
Many  shall  come — the  foolish,  false  and  fond, 
The  mystic  and  the  meek  shall  come  —  in  vain  ! 
And  He,  at  last,  —  surely  He,  too,  shall  come ! 
And  we,  who  know  him  not,  —  what  secret  signs 
Shall  prove  him  to  our  sense,  shall  specify 
The  Knower  of  the  secrets  of  all  hearts, 
The  single  Truth  Incarnate  ?  —  When  He  comes, 
How  shall  we  know  the  Saviour  ?  —  we,  who  learn, 
With  all  our  pains,  such  scant  and  partial  things ! 
How  shall  His  advent  be  revealed  ?  What  news, 
What  news  for  the  insatiable  generations 
Eager  of  thought's  transcendent  enterprise— 
What  tidings  of  redemption  and  reprieve — 
What  chart,  what  guidance,  what  discovery — 
What  cup  brimmed  over  from  the  Sacred  Fount — 
What  apple  from  the  gold  Hesperides  — 
What  irrecusable  witness  shall  He  bring 
As  earnest  that  His  life  has  learned  and  loved 
And  served  the  soul's  austere  necessities, 
And,  for  the  liberal  and  resplendent  Truth, 
Made  an  eternal  mansion  in  the  Soul  ? 

The  WOMAN 

Sternly  and  curiously  of  whoso  comes, 
[    185    ] 


HERAKLES 


Well  may  we  ask;  for  He  shall  surely  bring 
The  unimaginable  and  perfect  proof ! 


The  POET 

Not  He  alone — we  too  must  undergo 
The  stringent  doubt !  Well  may  we  ask,  indeed, 
What  tidings  of  salvation  and  the  soul 

Has  any  man  after  his  Great  Adventure? 

Well  may  we  ask !  —  for  in  our  several  hearts 

Surely  the  selfsame  question  probes  us  all, 

We,  the  Departed,  who  must  soon  return 

To  that  strange  nameless  Nothing  whence  we  came , 

Shall  we  return  impoverished  or,  at  last, 

Rich  with  the  truth's  serene  prosperities  ? 

Shall  we,  to-morrow  or  to-morrow,  turn 

Into  the  sunset  and  the  early  stars 

Brows  branded  with  dishonour  and  defeat, 

Or,  with  the  sacred  monstrance  of  the  souPs 

Excellent  victory,  elate  and  calm  ? 

Shall  we  return  from  life  dismayed  and  dazed, 

Or  quiet  with  an  exceeding  majesty, 

As  God  is  in  His  garden  of  great  stars, 

Where  all  things,  each  in  its  eternal  kind, 

Minister  to  the  welfare  of  the  soul  ? 

The  WOMAN 

He  is  the  Son  of  God;  he  is  gone  forth 
To  find  his  Father  in  a  better  place; 
[    186    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

And  he  shall  come  with  tidings  of  salvation 

And  news  of  great  concern  for  every  soul. 

He  is  the  Saviour :  he  shall  fortify, 

He  shall  bear  up  and  nourish  and  sustain 

All  weakness,  fears,  and  insufficiences — 

All  incapacities  like  mine,  and  all 

Scrupulous  infidelities  like  yours. 

He  shall  return  so  free  that  he  shall  find 

In  you,  in  me  himself  exemplified, 

And  give  our  wingless,  anxious  pilgrimage 

The  audacious,  free,  far  furtherance  of  his  wings !, 


The  CHORUS 
from  the  steps  of  the  Temple 

Strophe  I 

Verily,  Thou  and  I 

And  all  men  whatsoever  who  live  and  die, 
We  are  of  one  humanity; 
We  are  of  one  supreme  infirmity, 
One  gross  resemblance,  one  result,  one  cause; 
We  are  as  man  has  been  before, 
And  no  man  of  us  all  is  more, 
And  no  man  of  us  all  is  free 
And  master  of  the  inexorable  laws ;  — 
And  all  is  always  as  it  was, 

And  so  it  evermore  shall  be! 

We  are  —  who  were  not  nor  shall  be  again ! 
Yet  do  we  vainly  live  and  vain  are  we; 

[    187    ] 


HERAKLES 

Vain  is  contentment  and  desire  is  vain 

And  hope  is  fruitless  as  a  blasted  tree; 

Vain  are  the  powers  and  labours  of  the  brain ; 

Vain  are  the  pangs  that  shake  the  human  breast; 

Vain  is  the  body's  brief  felicity; 

Vain  was  our  youth  !  —  and  when  the  sober  years 

Leave  us  bereft  and  spent,  —  when  more  and  more 

We  feel,  upon  life's  darkening,  lonely  shore, 

Violent  and  blind,  the  rising  tide  of  tears, — 

Vainly  we  seek  for  refuge,  long  for  rest ! 

Antistrophe  I 

There  is  no  refuge  and  no  rest  for  us ! 
Tho'  in  a  myriad  tongues  and  ways 
The  old,  wild  voice  of  legend  says, 
"Thither  He  dwelt,  and  here  of  old  He  trod!" 
Yet  does  the  thought  and  the  desire  of  God 
Leave  us  impartial  and  incredulous. 
For  we  have  seen  how  all  things  pass 
In  sorrow,  infirmity,  and  pain; 
How  all  is  dust  that  comes  to  dust; 
How  nothing  is  where  nothing  was; 
How  thick  beneath  the  pleasant  grass 
Are  strewn  the  corpses  of  the  slain;  — 
And  strive  however  much  we  will 
We  cannot  find  God's  justice  just ! 
How  shall  we  call  Him  Father  still, 
Our  Father,  who  returns  us  ill 
[     188    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

For  good,  and  when  we  ask  for  bread 

Gives  us  a  stone  instead  ? 

How  shall  we  weep  to  Him  ?  —  He  does  not  care ! 

How  shall  we  sing  to  Him  ?  —  He  does  not  hear ! 

How  shall  we  love  Him  ?  —  for  He  is  not  here ! 

How  shall  we  know  if  God,  indeed,  be  there? 

Rather,  by  God  forsaken  and  forgot, 
Let  us  believe,  at  last,  that  He  is  dead, 
Or  never  was  and  now  is  not ! 

Strophe  II 

Yea !  to  our  sense,  in  life's  fantastic  trance, 
Nothing  there  is  apparent  more  than  blind 

Chance  and  mischance 

We  drift  like  derelicts  with  the  aimless  wind 

Across  the  darkness  of  our  ignorance 

Our  lives  were  kindled  like  a  flame; 
Nameless  out  of  the  nameless  dark  we  came; 
And  like  a  flame  that  will  no  longer  burn 

Into  the  selfsame  darkness  we  return! 

Were  we  not  then  enraptured  and  unwise, 

Should  we  believe 

What  the  soul's  secret  whisper  says, 

And  strive  to  find,  with  vision-haunted  eyes, 

Paths  into  Paradise, 

Where  we  might  walk  with  God  in  all  His  ways  ? 

Shall  we  not  rather  patiently  perceive, 

And  with  an  unambitious  mind, 

[    189    ] 


HERAKLES 

Man's  witness  to  mankind 

Touching  these  matters  of  the  soul's  concern  ? 

Shall  we  not  rather  strive  at  last  to  learn 

How,  wisely  and  ingloriously,  to  live  ? 

For  we  have  seen,  since  human  life  began, 

How  inconsiderable  is  man, 

How  weak  his  mind's  resolve,  how  brief  his  love, 

How  vain  his  strivings  and  his  flights  have  been, 

To  find  the  freedom  that  he  knows  not  of, 

The  light  of  Truth  his  eyes  have  never  seen 

Antistrophe  II 

Did  not,  of  old,  Bellerophon 
Drive  his  winged  courser  up  the  stagnant  night 
To  find  if  in  God's  house  there  was  any  light, 
Or  any  welcome  in  God's  house  ?  —  He  said, 

"There,  in  my  Father's  house,  is  home. 

"There,  in  His  love's  illimitable  dome, 

"Are  many  mansions  —  and  I  am  His  son. 

"And  on  my  Father's  breast 

"There  will  I  rest; 

"There  will  I  lay  down  my  exhausted  head, 

"  My  broken  heart,  and  there  be  cheered  and  stayed ; 

"There  will  I  walk  with  God 

"In  the  calm  ways  that  He  is  wont  to  tread, 

"  Quiet  and  undismayed 

"There  will  I  live,  and  live  no  longer  here, 

"Blind  and  deceived !  What  else  is  there  to  do, 
[    190    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

"When  all  of  life  is  questioned  thro'  and  thro', 
"Save  with  a  solemn  joy  to  question  God  and  hear 

"The  splendour  of  His  speech  sing  in  my  ear  ? 

"I  am  the  Son  of  God !  —  and  well  I  know 
"The  Son  can  do  no  trespass  if  he  go 
"Hardily  where  his  Father's  feet  have  trod. 
"I  am  the  Son  of  Man! — and  I  shall  be 
"Welcome  within  the  Paradise  of  God. 
"There  shall  He  bend  the  Sacred  Tree 
"Of  Knowledge,  and  auspiciously 
"Gather  the  ripened  fruit  for  me, 
"And  strike  the  rock  of  Death,  and  spread 
"The  waters  of  eternal  life,  and  break  the  bread 
"Of  Truth's  ineffable  communion!"  - 
Thus  he  believed,  and  thus  alone, 
Bellerophon, 

Launched  on  the  quest,  superbly  rose,  and  rode 
All  the  long  lonely  way,  almost  to  God's  abode ! . . . , 
Till,  at  the  threshold  of  eternity, 
He  turned,  and  saw,  and  could  not  bear  to  see 
The  veiled  and  voiceless  vacancy  of  death, 
The  blind  abyss  of  human  ignorance, 

Fathomless  and  immeasurable  beneath ! 

His  brain  reeled  and  his  heart  failed  !  —  Suddenly 

He  knew  his  own  shrill  insignificance ! 

Then,  from  the  very  sill 

Of  the  Unattainable  Place, 

The  lightnings  of  the  blind  and  nameless  Will 


HERAKLES 

Struck  him  down  headlong  thro'  uncharted  space ; 

Until  at  length  — 

By  the  divine,  immitigable  fire 

Sapped  in  his  spirit's  inmost  strength, 

Seared  and  corrupted  to  the  core 

Of  love  and  life  and  hope  and  all  desire  — 

He  lay  dying  by  the  sea's  lamentable  shore ! 

Thus  was  it  then ;  with  man  't  is  always  thus !  — 

So  was  it  once  with  Icarus 

Who  eyed  the  sun, 

And  rashly  took  unto  his  spirit  wings, 

And  dared  into  the  darkness,  up  and  on, 

To  find  the  secret  and  the  sense  of  things, 

Where,  in  the  eye  of  God,  all  stood  revealed! 

But,  when  the  springs  of  knowledge  were  unsealed 

And  Truth  towered  flaming  on  his  sight, 

His  pinions  shattered  in  the  light  — 

And  like  an  eagle  slain  in  flight, 

He  fell  from  where  day  promised  and  dawn  was, 

Down  the  deep  darkness,  smooth  and  blind  as  glass, 

Irretrievably 

Into  the  all-receiving  sea! 

Epode 

Thus  was  it  then  —  yea,  thus  it  always  is ! 
Man  is  an  eyeless  worm  whose  chrysalis 
Never,  despite  his  utmost  strength,  is  riven ! 
In  no  rebirth,  no  metamorphosis, 
[    192    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

Is  it  to  man's  imperfect  nature  given 
To  slough  his  gross  humanity,  and  rise 
Godlike,  and  walk  with  God  in  Paradise — 
Free  as  God  is,  unconquerable  and  wise! 
His  mind  is  like  a  haunted  house 
Where  veiled,  vain  figures  walk  in  sleep ; 
His  heart,  where  death's  bereavements  weep, 
Where  life's  large,  florid  lusts  carouse, 
Is  aimless,  like  a  withered  leaf 
Vexed  with  love's  vital  wind  of  song; 
The  purpose  of  his  soul  is  long; 
The  days  of  all  his  life  are  brief ! 
And  since  we  know  not  what  is  death  — 
Since  life  is — since  the  end  is  near — 
We  care  not  who  may  come,  we  hear 
No  longer  what  the  Spirit  saith ! 
What  tho'  the  Saviour  come? — tho'  deep 
Within  the  soul,  —  as  well  may  be  — 
There  where  the  peaks  of  thought  rise  steep 
And  stedfast  in  eternity, 
Truth  murmurs  at  its  fountain-head  ?  — 
We  care  not  —  for  our  faith  is  dead ; 
We  hear  not  —  lest  our  faith  return ; — 
Lest  we  believe  the  truth  —  and  learn ; 
Lest  we  believe  the  heart  —  and  love ; 
Lest  we  believe  the  soul  —  and  dare, 
And  strange  disaster  come  thereof, 
Of  pinions  shattered  in  mid-air, 
[    193    ] 


HERAKLES 

Of  ruin  and  desolation  and  despair ! 

Rather,  since  life  is  fugitive, 
And  truth's  assurance  none  can  give, 
And  no  redemption  makes  us  free, 
We  care  not,  hear  not,  nor  believe !  — 
We  live  as  man  must  always  live; 
We  are  as  man  must  always  be 

The  POET 

It  is  not,  up  the  shoreless  seas  of  night 
And  thro*  far  twilights  of  the  Mystery, 
The  rash  adventure  and  the  reckless  flight 
Of  winged  desires  and  dreams  of  liberty, 
Veered  to  no  lodestar  at  truth's  stedfast  pole, 
Which  can  avail 

The  serious,  strong,  ambition  of  the  soul. 
The  wings  of  man's  brave  ecstasies  are  frail; 
The  passions  native  to  the  human  breast — 
The  secret  raptures  which  persuade  — 
The  unutterable  longings  which  prevail — 
Tried  in  the  truth's  tremendous  test, 
Prove  weak  and  daunted  and  dismayed. 
There  is  no  swift  and  violent  way, 
There  is  no  near  and  friendly  goal; 
There  is  a  certain  price  to  pay 
And  certain  profit  for  the  soul, 
And  certain  justice !  —  when,  at  length, 
Clad  in  the  heart's  clear,  human  flame, 
[    194    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

Phrased  in  the  mind  and  conscious  of  its  aim, 

Man's  inmost  spiritual  strength  — 

No  more  wind-driven  and  sea-spent 

On  the  waste  waters  of  his  ignorance  — 

Interprets  life  by  his  significance, 

And  lives,  and  earns  his  true  enfranchisement ! 

HERAKLES  appears,  almost  invisible  in  the  closing 
dusk  of  nightfall.  The  POET  perceives  him,  and 
his  song  ceases.  He  leans  forward,  staring  into  the 
darkness.  Silence. 

The  POET 
with  a  great,  sudden  gesture  toward  the  figure 

of  HERAKLES 
Herakles !  — 

HERAKLES 
intense  and  motionless 
It  is  I! 

ALCMENA 

My  son !  — 

The  WOMAN 

My  Saviour! 

MEGARA 
Herakles !  — 

HERAKLES 
It  is  I! 

[    195    ] 


HERAKLES 

MEGARA 

starting  toward  him 
My  Love  — 

HERAKLES 

Be  still! 
Stand  back!    Stand  back!    I  know  you  not!    The 

dark 

Closes  you  in  —  while  round  me  and  within  me 
Abounds  the  perfect  and  perpetual  light ! 
Stand  back !  Be  still !  I  am  a  soul  withdrawn  — 

Shining  and  stark ! My  strength  is  like  a  sword, 

And  like  a  fire,  and  like  a  fearful  doom ! 

I  have  stood  solitary  in  the  place  of  God  — 
Solitary  and  august ! I  know  my  will  — 

MEGARA 
Herakles!  Herakles! 

ALCMENA 
My  son !  — 

HERAKLES 

Be  still! 

Crowd  not  upon  me,  phantoms  of  the  past ! 

I  am  not  whom  you  deem !  —  you  love  me  not !  — 

You  know  not  me !  — 

To  MEGARA 

I  am  not  as  I  was, 

When  last  we  felt  in  one  another's  breast, 
[    196    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

Strong  at  the  core,  the  pulse  of  life  abound ! 
I  am  a  stranger  —  you  are  strange  to  me ! 
The  eyes,  the  eyes,  shining  with  love  upon  me,  — 
The  thrilled,  intense  face  and  the  tender  word,  — 
The  tremulous,  great  joy  of  the  stretched  hands 
And  the  surrendered  heart  hailing  me  home, — 
These  are  no  longer  mine  —  mine  to  receive 
Or  mine  to  give !  —  No  more,  no  more,  for  me, 

Is  any  human  welcome  in  this  world ! 

There  in  the  Temple  —  there,  alone  alone, 

I  died! And  there  I  lived  again — and  thence 

I  come  —  and  I  shall  soon  depart,  alone  — 

Alone  and  nameless ! Had  you  means  and  will, 

Well  might  the  Truth  be  cogent  to  your  sense !  — 

But  I  am  like  a  pillar  of  pure  flame 

Whose  vision  blinds  and  whose  embrace  destroys ! 

MEGARA 
I  love  you,  Herakles. 

HERAKLES 

You  loved  me — loved  me 
When  in  the  plaintive  dusk  of  life  I  was  — 
When  I  was  dark  and  cold  as  dust !  —  I  am 
Incarnate  fire !  I  am  the  Householder, 
Who  in  the  House  of  Life  slept  overlong 

And  walked  asleep  in  dreams And  sleeps  no  more ! 

And  dreams  no  more !  —  Yea !  sleeps  and  dreams  no 
more, 

[    197    ] 


HERAKLES 

Ghosts  of  a  vanished  dream !  Bear  witness,  you 
Who  see  me;  you  who  know  me  not,  bear  witness! — 

I  am  the  Unknown  God ! And  therefore  woe, 

Woe  unto  you  all  who  hear  me  speak, 
Yet  understand  no  sense  of  all  my  words, 
But  love  me  for  the  slight  glad  man  I  was ! 
Press  not  so  all  persuasively  upon  me, 
Lest  you  be  rent  as  a  wind-driven  cloud ! 
For  whoso  comes  across  my  purpose  or 
Assails  my  strength,  he  is  by  no  means  spared ! 

Woe  unto  you  all ! Woe  unto  me, 

Whom  the  Truth's  justice  pardons  least  of  all — 

Who  am  not  yet  at  heart  invulnerable  — 

Who  am  the  Unknown  God ! — and  therefore,  therefore 

The  scourge,  the  victim,  and  the  agonist, 

The  Saviour  and  the  stricken  sacrifice!.... 

The  WOMAN 
The  Saviour !  — 

The  POET 

Sacrifice  ?  —  the  sacrifice  ?  — 
What  shall  I  understand  ?  O  Messenger, 
Is  Sacrifice  your  good  report,  your  news 
Of  great  concern? — and  how,  in  sacrifice, 
How  is  the  cost  cyphered  and  signified? 

HERAKLES 

Ask  me  no  more !  Be  still !  — 
[    198    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

The  POET 

O  Herakles, 

Is  it  the  lifelong  Labours  ?  O,  at  last, 
Is  victory  prepared  ?  Are  you  resolved 
At  last  to  take  the  soul's  task  patiently, 
And  rise  by  sure  degrees  from  servitude 
In  virtue  of  that  work  there  is  to  do  — 
Gradual  and  long  and  constant  as  life  is  — 
By  which  alone  the  soul  exactly  gains 
Mastery  and  manumission  after  all  ? 
Are  you  resolved  and  launched  ?  —  O  Herakles, 
Are  you  upon  the  threshold  and  the  path  ? 
Is  it  the  start  of  all  prosperities 
You  herald  as  you  say  farewell  to  us  ?  — 
Who,  in  the  prison-house  whence  you  go  free, 
Having  laid  down  your  life  for  the  true  cause, 
Watch  you  depart  into  the  stern,  straight  way 
And  years  of  endless  toil,  with  love  and  faith 
And  exultation  and  heart-breaking  joy ! 

0  strength !  —  O  toil !  —  O  sacrifice !  — 

HERAKLES 

Be  still! 

Silence !  You  know  me  not !  You  cry  aloud 
To  craze  me  with  the  past's  fantastic  fears  — 

Frantic  insanities  —  Eurystheus ! Speak 

No  more !  I  tell  you,  in  the  House  of  God 

1  stood  alone,  and  there  the  man  I  was, 

[    199    ] 


HERAKLES 

Florid  and  perdurable  and  splendid,  died  — 

Died  to  revive !  —  and  paid  in  sacrifice 

Once  and  for  all  the  price  of  liberty ! 

There  is  no  toil,  no  servitude,  for  me ! 

I,  who  by  one  preeminence  of  strength, 

By  one  extravagance  of  sacrifice, 

Have  wrought  life's  final  metamorphosis, 

And  thus  become  as  God  is,  without  bond 

Or  any  taint  of  man's  infirmities  — 

What  need  have  I  to  labour  any  more  ? 

I,  who  have  known  myself  perfectible, 

And  dared  and  died,  curious  of  consummations- 

Died  to  the  world,  and  in  the  soul  revived, 

Friendless  and  free,  inviolate  and  divine; — 

I,  who  have  gone  the  uttermost  way  of  all 

Ambition,  and  resolved  a  strict  farewell 

To  all  less  things  than  the  one  perfect  thing;  — 

I,  who  have  seen  tremendously  across 

The  ruins  of  my  ruthless  sacrifice, 

Thought's  stately  promise  of  perfection  bear 

The  ripened  fruit  of  its  accomplishment ;  — 

What  labours  are  there  more  for  me  to  do  ? 

The  POET 

How  can  the  labours  cease  while  life  remains? 
Life  is  the  heart's  occasion,  and  the  soul's 
Supreme  emergency ! 

[    200    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 
to  himself 

O  patience,  patience, 

Desperate  heart !  Patience,  distracted  brain ! 
Patience ! — 

To  the  POET 
O  be  advised,  I  say,  to  silence! 

Man  cannot  dream  at  all  what  may  betide! 

Even  as  we  speak  together,  it  well  may  be  — 
Roused  and  released  by  some  chance  senseless  word  — 
The  universal  Will  shall  strike  athwart 
Your  crossed,  frail  threads  of  heart-sick  human  life, 

And  rend  them  all  asunder ! O,  be  sure 

I  am  resolved !   Surely,  if  needs  must  be, 
I  will  make  life  stark  naked  as  a  flame  — 

Yea,  void  and  ruined  as  a  flame-swept  place ! 

I  say,  well  may  destruction  come !  —  and  who, 
Who  else  shall  perish  of  it,  save  they  whose  hearts 

Love  has  made  vulnerable  ? What  fumes  of  blood, 

What  savour  of  slain  men,  what  reek  of  carnage 
God  may  demand,  I  know  not! 

MEGARA 

Herakles ! 
Herakles ! 

HERAKLES 

You  —  be  silent  most  of  all ! 

This  is  a  deadly  peril ! I  know  you  not ! 

[    201    ] 


HERAKLES 

Take  away  your  eyes  and  your  importunate  face! 
You  are  too  curious  of  me  —  Go !   Go !   Go ! 

I  say  no  tongue  can  tell  what  may  betide 

I  am  dead  —  and  I  have  risen  from  the  dead, 

And  come  again  to  you  after  some  days; 

And  I  am  other  than  I  ever  was  — 

And  you  I  know  not,  and  I  love  you  not! 

What  tho'  you  were  my  dearest  of  life's  best, 

My  love,  my  wife,  the  mother  of  my  sons, 

My  very  children,  innocent  and  mild  — 

Natheless  I  know  you  and  I  love  you  not ! 

O,  hark !  —  hark !  —  hark !  —  how  the  shrill   demon 

cries  — 

Naming  you  with  an  old,  persistent  grief, 
And  tremulous,  long  lamentations! 

MEGARA 

Hark!- 

Hark! — how  the  voice  of  love  cries  out  within  you! 
Hark! — how  the  voice  of  truth  and  justice  cries — 
Naming  your  wife,  your  mother,  and  your  sons, 
Who  know  you,  love  you,  and  forsake  you  not  — 
And  will  not  be  forsaken!  Who  am  I? — 
Who  are  my  children  ?  —  Well  you  know  our  worth ! 
Can  you  bereave  them  and  abandon  me? 
I  am  no  casual  woman  of  your  lust; 
They  are  no  bastards  born  of  harlotry. 
I  am  the  grave  companion  of  your  life; 

[    202    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

I  am  your  equal  —  and  your  sons  are  mine ! 

We  are  the  candour  and  the  tenderness 

Of  home — your  home ! — and  we  are  yours,  are  yours — 

And  may  not  thus  be  outraged  and  disclaimed ! 

HERAKLES 

Why  will  you  cry  out  in  the  darkness,  words 
I  will  not  hear — O  ghosts!  —  O  plaintive  ghosts!  — 
Ghosts  of  the  vanished  dream  —  the  dream  of  life  ? 
Why  will  you  cry  out  in  the  darkness — when 
The  lightnings  are  at  hand  which  shall  dispel, 
With  fire  and  devastation  and  despair, 

Spectres  and  plaintive  voices  and  vain  things  ? 

Beware!  lest  you  may  learn  how  stern  and  strange 
And  violent  is  the  just  clear  voice  of  doom ! 
Beware!  Beware!  You  are  the  living  sign 
Of  an  ignoble  bondage  and  a  will 
Too  lax  with  pleasure  and  emolument 
To  rise  to  the  sheer  heights  of  life's  occasion ! 
Therefore  beware !  be  still ! — Your  voice  allures  me 
You  would  betray  me I  will  hear  no  more ! 

MEGARA 

Verily,  in  the  light  of  life's  real  need, 
Your  words  say  nothing  to  my  sense.   I  know 
My  worth  and  yours ;  I  know  my  sons  and  yours 
Sleep  in  your  house,  secure  in  you  and  me. 
Look  at  me  well !  —  for  I  have  borne  your  children, 

[    203    ] 


HERAKLES 

And  tenderly  and  with  an  infinite  joy  — 
In  nights  of  vigil  when  the  exhausted  flesh 
Cried  out  for  rest,  and  in  laborious  days 
Of  unremitting  care  and  cheer  and  love  — 
Reared  them  to  life  and  laughter,  liberty 
And  light,  and  generous  grandeurs  of  the  spirit, 
And  exultations  of  the  heart,  and  strong 
Joys  of  the  body;  and  maintained  your  house; 
And  made  my  life's  concern  of  them  and  you ! 
Look  at  me  well !  —  Will  you  abandon  me  ? 
Will  you  bereave  me  of  my  love  and  joy  ? 
Shall  I  be  left  defenceless  and  despised, 
Haply  the  prey  and  victim  of  chance  wars 
In  which  I  well  may  come  to  servitude, 
Sweat  like  a  harlot  in  some  conqueror's  bed, 
And,  in  a  sheer  excess  of  misery, 
Die  of  a  vile  and  self-inflicted  death  ? 

ALCMENA  swiftly  enters  the  house  of  HERAKLES. 

HERAKLES 

I  know  you  now! — I  know  you  as  you  are! 
You  would  betray  me  —  you  would  rouse  within  me 

Passions  and  vile  estrangements  from  the  soul ! 

But  there  is  of  my  strength  sufficiently 

Now  to  withstand  you  —  Yea !  if  needs  must  be  — 

ALCMENA   reappears,  bringing  with  her  the  three 
SONS  OF  HERAKLES.    They  go  to  their  mother. 
[    204    ]   * 


TENTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 

almost  in  frenzy 
Take  away  the  children ! — Take  away  the  children !  — 

MEGARA 

Yea! 

These  are  your  sons  !  —  Will  you  cast  off  your  own  ? 
Will  you  forsake,  will  you  abandon  them  ? 
What? — shall  the  sons  of  Herakles  be  left 
Victims  to  man's  injustice  and  the  scorn 
Of  an  oppressive,  vile,  injurious  world  ? 
What? — shall  the  sons  of  Herakles  be  bowed 
By  shame,  by  slander  outraged,  and  by  greed 
And  violence  shorn  and  spoiled,  enslaved  or  slain  ? 
They  are  the  sons  of  Kings ;  they  are  your  sons, 
The  sons  of  Herakles !  —  Shall  they  be  left, 
Helpless  and  weak,  to  lose  the  throne  of  Cadmus  ? 
O  look  upon  us  well,  as  we  stand  here ! 
And  know  our  worth  and  power, — and  know  your  own 
Heart's  longing ! 

HERAKLES 

vile  estrangements  ! stratagems ! 

Beware !  Beware !  Would  you  betray  me  thus  ? 
Know  that  I  will  not  be  seduced,  enslaved, 
Corrupted  and  made  captive  by  your  means !  — 
And  take  away  the  children !  —  take  them  from  me !  — 

Is  there  no  mercy  ? Shall  it  come  to  this  ? 

[    205    ] 


HERAKLES 

MEGARA 

How  shall  we  not  withstand  you,  O  my  Love, 
Since  you  do  evil  in  your  heart  and  lie  ? 
Witness! — we  have  no  selfish  will  with  you, 
But  the  pure  purpose  of  life's  sacred  cause, 
Here  in  my  sons  incarnate  —  and  in  me. 
There  is  no  stronger  purpose,  and  no  cause 
More  pure  and  perfect.  Yea !  we  must  prevail, 
Since,  with  the  strength,  in  us  exemplified, 
Of  all  life's  cosmic  and  immutable  will, 
Now  we  traverse  your  madness  and  your  wrong ! 

HERAKLES 

The    Lightning    falls! Hear   you    the    thunders 

peal? 

See  you  the  keen,  swift  flame  striking  to  slay  ? 

Nothing  avails ! Nothing  avails ! All 's  said  — 

All 's  over  and  said ! and  one  thing  is  to  do, 

One  violent  and  intolerable  deed 
Of  Sacrifice !  —  till  the  white  altar  glows 
Crimson  and  shining  in  the  white,  clear  light; — 
Till  the  salt  savour  and  the  fumes  of  blood 
Rise  in  the  boundless  air's  tranquillity;  — 
Till  the  relentless  sleepless  Spirit  knows 
There  is  no  human  shadow  and  no  bond 
To  dim  its  Truth,  to  thwart  its  Liberty ! 

HERAKLES  grasps  his  great  bow  and  takes  an  arrow 

from  his  quiver. 

[    206    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 
MEGARA 

Why  do  you  fix  me  with  such  bestial  eyes 
Of  madness  and  revenge  ? 

With  a  great  cry 

The  children! 

HERAKLES 

Death ! 
He  fits  an  arrow  to  the  bow. 

MEGARA 
He  will  destroy  the  children ! 

The  POET 

He  is  mad ! 
He  is  stark  mad ! 

He  seizes  HERAKLES,  but  is  thrown  to  the  ground, 
where  he  lies,  stunned. 

MEGARA 
The  children! 

HERAKLES 

Death! 

ALCMENA 

My  boy !  — 

Herakles ! 

[    207    ] 


HERAKLES 

MEGARA 
Herakles !  —  the  children !  — 

HERAKLES 

Death ! 
ALCMENA 

These  are  your  sons,  your  wife  — 
/ 

MEGARA 

—  your  little  children! 

Mercy ! 

ALCMENA 

Have  mercy !  —  Herakles !  —  My  son  !  — 

O  — 

MEGARA 

Spare  the  children !  —  Spare  the  children !  — 

HERAKLES 

Death ! 

He  draws  his  bow  and  kills  the  children  one  by  one  as 
they  are  crying  for  mercy. 

First  CHILD 

Father!  — No! No! 

Dies. 

Second  CHILD 

Save  me !  —  Mother !  — 
Dies. 
[    208    ] 


TENTH  SCENE 

Third  CHILD 

Father !  — 
Father !  - 

MEGARA 

throwing  herself  upon  the  bodies  of  her  sons 
My  children ! O  my  doves ! My  children ! 

HERAKLES 

Rather  rejoice !  rejoice !    Is  not  the  deed 
Accomplished  ?    Blood,  the  blood  of  Sacrifice  — 

The  dear  heart's  blood ! Behold,  these  were  my 

children !  — 

These  were  my  little  children !  —  yet  I  slew 
And  spared  not !   God  is  not  more  pitiless, 

More  perfect  and  inexorable ! Rejoice ! 

These  were  my  children !  —  and  she  too  shall  die 
As  they  have  died !   None  shall  betray  me,  none 
Resist  me,  none  persuade  me 

ALCMENA 

Herakles ! 

MEGARA 

O  my  children! O  my  children! O  my  chil 
dren  ! 

HERAKLES 

grasping  his  sword  and  rushing  upon  her 

Silence!  Silence!  Silence !— Death !  Death !  Death !  — 
[    209    ] 


HERAKLES 

O  let  there  be  rejoicing,  for  God's  sake ! 

Set  the  strong  hand  unto  the  sword,  and  slay! 

And  slay ! And  slay ! 

Suddenly  he  sways  and  falls  insensible  to  the  ground. 

ALCMENA 
..My  boy! My  boy! 


MEGARA 

My  children! 


End  of  the  Tenth  Scene. 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 


Thebes.  Before  the  house  of  HERAKLES. 

Some  weeks  have  elapsed  since  the  close  of  the  preceding  scene. 

MEGARA  and  ALCMENA  sit  together  near  the  door  of  the 

house.   The  WOMAN  sits  upon  the  steps  of  the  Temple  of 

Hera,  at  some  distance. 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

ALCMENA 

I,  who  am  almost  lifeless  as  the  dead,  — 
Who  live  —  if  this  long  vigil  of  despair 
Is  life  —  as  he  lives  who  was  born  my  son, 
Anguished  and  spent  with  ecstasy  and  pain, — 
Have  kept  this  blasted  fragment  of  my  life 
Day  after  day  by  the  disused,  dumb  door, 
That  if  he  lives  and  is  not  dead  and  dares 
Return  and  comes  out  of  his  solitude, 
Damned  and  defeated,  shattered  and  diseased  — 
Who  was  above  all  men  superb  and  strong !  — 
He  shall  not  lack  the  refuge  of  one  heart 
At  least :  —  and  still  for  him  my  heart  is  sanctuary ! 
Where  else,  indeed,  should  he  find  room  to  weep, 
Save  on  this  withered  breast  that  gave  him  suck  ? 
What  heart  should  be  to  him  compassionate, 
Faithful  and  fond  in  sickness  as  in  health, 
If  mine  were  not  —  of  whose  essential  blood 
He  was  compounded  and  made  quick  and  whole  ? 
He  is  my  son !  — 

The  WOMAN 

He  is  my  Saviour ! 

[    213    ] 


HERAKLES 

ALCMENA 

When, 

When  shall  he  come  ?  No  longer,  as  at  first, 
We  hear  him,  like  an  inarticulate  thing, 

Dreadfully  in  the  darkness  crying  aloud 

He  is  alone  and  silent He  is  silent 

He  is  alone How  is  it  with  him  now, 

There  in  the  desolation  of  his  house  ? 

Is  he  become  a  speechless  idiot 

Who,  gibbering,  glares  about  the  vacant  rooms, 

Inhuman,  scared,  distraught,  day  after  day?..... 

Rather,  it  well  may  be,  the  worst  and  last 

Ecstasy  of  the  soul's  despair  is  silent ! 

Yet  there  are  times  in  my  exhausted  brain, 
When,  with  a  sense  almost  of  rest  and  peace, 
I  do  believe  my  boy  is  dead 

The  WOMAN 

He  lives. 
He  shall  return. 

MEGARA 
My  sons  shall  not  return ! 

ALCMENA 

The  maniac  and  the  dead  return  no  more !  — 
Theirs  is  the  better  part ! 

MEGARA 

My  boys  are  dead — 
[    214    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

ALCMENA 
Only  the  dead  are  fortunate ! 

MEGARA 

My  doves  — 

My  little  children,  tender  and  very  young  — 
My  children  —  O  my  children !  —  Where  are  they  ? 
All  desolately  dead !  —  all  violently 
And  vilely  dead,  abominably  murdered, 
Pitiably  and  strangely  slain !  —  my  brave,  my  strong, 
Beautiful  children ! O  my  sons ! 

The  WOMAN 

He  lives. 

ALCMENA 

Happily  not ! I  will  believe  he  lives 

No  more 

MEGARA 

He  cried  out  like  a  blood-sick  beast, 
And  slew  them,  one  by  one !  —  their  father  slew  them ! 
And  they  are  gone,  my  white  and  innocent  doves !  — 

Gone ! gone ! I  saw  the  dreadful  majesty 

Of  Death  smooth  their  still  faces,  and  their  lips 

Were  dumb,  and  in  their  eyes  there  was  no  light 

He  slew  them  —  one  by  one ! 

ALCMENA 

and  we  are  left 

Alive ! 

[    215    ] 


HERAKLES 

MEGARA 

and  life  shall  never  cease  to  be 

A  blasted  thing,  a  bitter  broken  ruin, 

An  utter  and  unendurable  bereavement ! 

There  is  no  end  to  the  abominable 

Agony ! They  are  dead  —  my  sons !  —  and  he, 

My  Herakles,  my  love,  —  he  is  not  dead ! 
He  lives  and  lurks  within  the  empty  house, 
A  mouthing  idiot,  crouching  like  a  beast, 
Sullen  and  fierce  and  frenzied  in  his  lair ! 

f  ALCMENA 

Nay,  I  believe,  indeed,  my  boy  is  dead, 
As  they  are  dead,  who  were  well-nigh  my  children  — 
Happily  dead  out  of  this  desperate  world ! 
Let  us  believe  at  least  he  lives  no  more; 
Rather,  with  joy,  let  us  believe  him  dead ! 
For  then  with  joy  we  too  might  soon  depart 
Where  there  is  no  more  madness  and  no  pain ; 
Where,  in  the  Silence,  God's  dominion  ends; 
Where    there    is    sleep    which    neither   wakes   nor 

dreams 

Only  the  dead  are  fortunate !  —  I  know 
Life  is  an  ill  no  mortal  strength  can  bear ! 
What  man  could  be  more  mighty  than  he  was  ? 
What  heart  more  great  ?  what  soul  more  excellent  ? — 
Yet  is  he  failed  and  fallen  and  overcome, 

Body  and  heart  and  soul ! O  fortunate, 

[    216    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

Fortunate  are  they  who  have  died  so  young ! 
At  least  they  shall  not  fall,  like  Herakles, 
Out  of  a  perfect  and  a  prosperous  manhood 
Into  foul  pits  of  madness  and  despair; 
Nor  live  to  sit,  bereft  and  blind  with  tears, 
On  the  charred  ruins  of  a  wasted  life, 
As  I  do  —  who  am  mother  to  them  all ! 

The  WOMAN 

Herakles !  Herakles !  —  He  shall  return ! 
He  lives! 

ALCMENA 
Be  still! 

MEGARA 
My  sons  are  dead ! 


ALCMENA 

My  boy 

Is  dead !  —  And  I  remember,  I  remember 
How  he  was  radiant  and  tender,  proud, 
Passionate,  dauntless ;  how  his  eyes  were  grave 

And  clear And  I  remember  little  things 

Of  him And  I  believe  a  woman  dies 

When  she  remembers,  as  I  do,  such  things, 
Such  simple,  poignant,  childish  memories, 
Of  a  dead  child! 

MEGARA 

She  dies,  I  know  she  dies ! 


HERAKLES 
THE  POET  appears. 

The  POET 

O  theatre  of  perpetual  desolation  — 
Scene  of  the  soul's  last  tragedy  —  where  death 
And  ruin  and  dread,  inexpiable  deeds 
Conspired  with  madness  to  the  soul's  defeat !  — 

0  dumb  deserted  house  of  lamentation, 
Sepulchre  of  the  soul !  —  and  you,  and  you, 
Mourners  before  the  sepulchre,  poor  hearts ! — 
What  can  console  you  or  redeem  you  now  ? 
Nothing  avails,  I  know,  nothing  avails ! 

For  all  is  lost :  there  is  no  prosperous 

Expectancy,  no  refuge  any  more ! 

Therefore  I  will  not  vex  you  with  vain  words ; 

1  will  but  weep  with  you,  and  then  —  farewell ! 
Farewell,  O  broken-hearted  women,  rent 

And  splintered  wreckage  from  the  seas  of  life, 
Stranded  upon  the  sterile  sands  of  sorrow 
Beside  the  bitter,  barren  fields  of  death ! 
Here  have  I  nothing  more  to  do  but  weep  — 
Therefore  I  will  not  stay.  Yet,  O  be  sure 
I  understand  you  with  a  passionate  grief ! 
For  I  —  I  too  have  suffered  of  these  things 
And  shared  with  you  some  portion  of  your  pain ! , 
Yet  will  I  say  farewell,  for  now  the  long, 
Supreme  desire,  within  me,  and  the  faith 
That  will  not  rest,  revive :  my  soul  once  more 
[    218    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

Animates  to  its  own  emergency. 

Life  and  its  endless  future  enterprise 

Call  me.    I  feel  the  longing  in  my  heart 

Of  new  departures  and  the  liberty 

Of  open  skies,  great  winds  and  solitude  — 

Of  starlight  on  the  mountains  and  calm  seas 

At  sunset  and  wide  mornings  of  the  world ! 

Farewell,  O  dispossessed  and  desolate  hearts !  — 

He  turns  his  face  toward  the  house  of  HERAKLES. 

And  you,  who  filled  the  measure  of  my  hopes 
Of  man,  and  roused  raptures  of  emulation  — 
Farewell ! 

He  turns  to  the  WOMAN. 

But  you  —  rise  up !  Not  all  is  lost ! 

O  let  the  dead  bury  their  dead! Your  place 

And  mine  are  with  the  living !    Come  away 

Out  of  this  charnel-house !  Perpetually 

Of  all  slain  things  fresh  flowers  and  fruits  are  made, 

When  the  new  mind  of  man  in  the  new  world 

Of  thought's  discovery  tills  virgin  fields, 

And  the  new  future  like  a  harvest  blooms 

Now  is  the  ripe  occasion.  Leave  the  tears 
Unshed,  the  dead  unburied  —  come  away ! 
We  have  so  very  little  time  to  live, 
To  solve  the  secret  and  discern  the  light  — 
Such  insufficient,  fretful  hours  of  dawn 
And  day  and  dusk  in  which  to  hurry  on, 
[    219    ] 


HERAKLES 

Home-sick  and  sick  at  heart,  like  strayed,  sad  children  ;— 

And  Home  is  far,  and  the  great  Nightfall  comes ! 

Rise !  Rise !  The  shattered  lamp  gives  light  to  none ! 
All  is  postponed  when  death  and  madness  come ; 
And  we  who  live,  we  have  no  time  to  wait ! 

We  face  the  Future ! He  is,  with  his  peers, 

Drawn  down  the  sunless  vortex  of  the  Past 

Bellerophon  is  fallen ;  Icarus 

Is  fallen ;  Phaethon  is  fallen ;  —  he 

Is  fallen !   Yea,  immedicably  his  heart 

Is  cancered  and  his  soul  withered  and  spent! 

And  there  is  nothing  in  an  idiot's  brain 

Save  the  unendurable  nothingness  of  death! 

The  WOMAN 
rising  to  her  feet 

He  shall  return  !  He  lives !  He  is  not  mad ! 
He  shall  return  — 

The  POET 
—  shattered  or  mad  or  dead ! 

The  WOMAN 

I  say,  he  lives !  I  say,  his  mind  is  whole ! 
I  tell  you  he  shall  come  again  in  power, 
Stronger  and  more  serene,  more  sane,  more  wise, 
Self -mastered,  certain  of  his  path  and  goal, 

Radiant  and  unashamed,  inspired,  resolved ! 

He  shall  return  — 

f    220    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

The  POET 

You  speak  fantastic  things. 
There  is  no  hope,  no  secret  that  absolves; 
No  mystic  resurrection;  no  rebirth; — 
That  were  too  terrible ! 

MEGARA 

Too  terrible! 

Here  in  his  madness  he  destroyed  my  sons  — 
His  children !  Here  he  fell  —  he  shall  not  rise ! 
Forever  and  forever  his  soul  is  damned ; 
His  life  is  wasted  as  spilt  wine;  his  heart 

Rent  like  a  blasted  tree ! My  desolation 

Is  faultless ! 

ALCMENA 
He  shall  never  rise  from  this 

Abyss,  this  degradation,  this  despair 

O,  let  us  all  believe  that  he  is  dead ! 
I  dare  not  think  he  lives !  —  for  then,  indeed, 
Then,  if  the  door  were  opened,  we  should  see 
Not  him  we  know,  my  strong  and  splendid  son  — 
Rather  God  knows  what  spent,  deformed,  dread  thing, 
What  nameless  monster  — 

MEGARA 

—  what  poor  beast  of  prey, 
Blackened  with  blood ! 

The  POET 

What  crazed,  cringed  human  ruin !  — 
[    221    ] 


HERAKLES 

Suddenly  the  door  of  the  house  of  HERAKLES  opens. 
HERAKLES  stands  upon  the  threshold,  calm, 
grave,  erect,  and  strong.  A  moment  of  breathless  si 
lence.  Then, 

The  WOMAN 
with  a  great  cry 
Herakles  !  Herakles !  My  Saviour !  —  See, 

My  lamp   still   burns! And  now  the  Bridegroom 

comes  — 
At  last ! 

ALCMENA 

rising  up,  blind  with  tears 
My  boy !  —  My  son !  —  My  Herakles !  — 

The  POET 

Herakles  ?  —  Herakles  ?  —  What  miracle  ?  — 
What  alchemy  ?  —  He  comes,  serene  and  strong, 
Mailed  in  the  grave,  fine  gold  of  victory ! 
Who  can  believe  — 

MEGARA 

wildly 

The  lie  is  palpable ! 

Grim  and  fantastic  phantom  of  the  past  — 
Herakles  ?  —  No,  it  must  not  be !  Reply !  — 
What  cheat  is  this  ?  —  O  what  abominable, 
Cruel,  and  senseless  trickery  is  this  ? 
His  ghost  returns  —  but  where  is  Herakles  ? 
Where  is  the  madman  and  the  murderer? 
[    222    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 

I  am  the  madman;  and  the  murderer 
I  am;  and  I  am  Herakles;  and  I, 
I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life, 
I  am  the  Soul,  whose  inmost  virtue  is 
Thus  to  outlive  destruction  and  return, 
Valid  with  Truth's  perennial  victory !  — 
Thus  to  survive,  despite  of  life  and  death, 
With  awful  strength,  the  throes  of  man's  despair, 
The  unremitting  madness  and  defeat 
And  grim  disaster  of  his  mortal  days !  — 
Thus,  with  the  flame  of  truth's  unfailing  lamp, 
To  light  aloft  its  calm,  inflexible  way, 
There  where  his  human  vision,  blind  with  tears, 
Sees  only,  in  the  nether  gulf  of  grief, 
Vacancy  and  the  windy  darkness !  —  thus 
To  pass  with  man  thro'  all  the  flames  of  Hell, 
Till  the  crude  ore  of  his  humanity, 
Purged  of  its  dross,  refined  and  purified, 
Yields,  unalloyed,  its  bright  immortal  gold !  — 
And  thus,  in  power  and  splendour  and  dominion, 
To  rise  from  man's  wild  weakness  calm  and  strong; 
To  sing  in  man's  disconsolate  heart ;  to  find 
Faith  in  man's  abject  infidelities ; 
To  make  of  man's  infirmities  the  means 
Of  victory ;  to  be  imperishable ; 
To  realize  God  in  self  and  strength;  to  save 
And  serve  and  strive  —  till  man  is  overcome !  — 
[    223    ] 


HERAKLES 

Till  the  immortal  energy  of  Life, 
Transfigured  with  its  own  divine  intent, 

Evolves  still  further  to  its  perfect  end ! 

I  am  the  soul  —  the  inmost,  immanent, 
Real  and  essential  core  of  life  — 

MEGARA 

And  I?  — 

I,  who  have  all  my  life  long  lived  in  love 
And  mild  beneficent  deeds  and  ways  of  being  — 
I,  who  am  innocent,  God  knows !  —  shall  I 
Be  as  I  am,  forever  a  blasted  thing, 
Derelict,  wrecked  and  spent  in  heart  and  soul, 
While  you,  befouled  with  blood  and  infamy, 
Rise  like  a  God  triumphant  out  of  Hell  ?  — 
Shall  I  be  damned  and  you  be  saved  ?  —  No !  No ! 
Surely  there  shall  be  justice  after  all  — 
Justice  at  least !  —  since  there  is  neither  love 

Nor  mercy  nor  compassion  in  God's  heart 

There  shall  be  justice !  —  justice !  — 

HERAKLES 

In  the  dark, 

I  have  endured  your  anguish ;  and  my  heart 
Is  broken ;  and  it  breaks  again  for  you ! 
Verily,  verily,  in  my  solitude, 
Mine  was  a  mightier  agony  than  yours !  — 
Were  they  not  mine,  the  failure  and  the  deed  ? 
Therefore  I  know  how  mad  the  truth  must  seem 
[    224    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

Now  to  your  sense,  as  then  it  seemed  to  mine  — 
How  mad,  how  dark — and  O,  how  terrible! 

MEGARA 
Justice ! There  shall  be  justice ! 


HERAKLES 

Truth  is  just. 
And  truth  prevails,  relentless  and  revealed 

Between  us :  —  I,  the  living ;  you,  the  lost 

Only  the  soul  survives  —  only  the  soul 
Whose  self  and  substance  are  the  living  truth ! 
Therefore  am  I  redeemed. 

MEGARA 

OHerakles! 

HERAKLES 

Megara !  —  O  my  dear,  I  know,  I  know ! 

Love  was  your  virtue  and  your  life;  and  I, 
Even  I  have  choked  the  fountains  of  your  being 
And  left  your  love  bereft,  and  one  by  one 
Shattered  your  heart-strings  —  till  at  last  there  is 
No  breath  of  music  in  you  any  more ! 

MEGARA 

No  love,  no  light,  no  breath  of  life,  no  being !  — 
I  am  a  cracked  flask  whence  the  wine  of  life 
Is  drained  away  to  the  least,  utmost  drop 

[    225    ] 


HERAKLES 

Into  the  new-turned  furrow  of  their  graves ! 

You  know  not  how  it  is  at  all  with  me : 

I  tell  you  I  am  dead  as  a  quenched  fire; 

Dead  as  the  dreadful  eyes  of  a  slain  man ; 

Dead  as  the  blue  blank  face  of  a  drowned  child ;  — 

Dead    as    my   sons    are   dead !  —  Yea,    more    than 

they! 

Dead  —  dead  —  dead  to  the  core ! 

HERAKLES 

So  am  I  dead  — 

I,  who  was  once  the  man  you  loved  and  knew ! 
It  is  not  I  —  it  is  the  Soul,  the  Truth  — 
It  is  the  God  who  dwells  and  reigns  within  me  — 
God,  whom  I  am  when  all  His  work  is  done !  — 
Who  is  so  sternly  indestructible, 
Who  is  not  ruined  and  shattered  and  undone, 
Poisoned  at  life's  perpetual  fountain-head, 
Damned  and  abased  and  irretrievably 
Crushed  and  corrupted  even  to  the  core  of  being 
By  this  incredible,  bestial  infamy, 

My  madness  fostered  and  my  hands  fulfilled! 

It  is  not  I,  it  is  not  Herakles  — 
It  is  the  Truth,  which  has  no  heart  to  break — 
Truth,  which  inures  by  labour  after  all !  — 
It  is  the  Soul,  whose  inmost  life  and  strength 
Are  of  so  pure  and  terrible  a  temper 
That  even  against  the  iron  door  of  Death 
[    226   ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

They  are  not  dulled,  and  when  the  stone-blind  eyes 
Of  Destiny  shed  lightnings  that  consume 
The  very  being  and  heart  and  mind  of  man, 
They  are  not  seared  or  shaken  or  appalled ! 
It  is  the  thirst  and  hunger  of  the  Spirit 
Which,  with  a  longing  so  relentless,  crave 
The  bread  and  wine  of  truth's  communion, 
That,  tho'  the  wine  be  mixed  with  blood  and  tears, 
The  bread  with  madness  poisoned,  and  despair, 
They  will  not  be  denied  to  feed  the  soul  — 
Which  finds  its  nourishment  and  lives  and  thrives 
And  grows  out  of  great  error  by  such  means ! 

0  verily,  verily  the  human  thing 

1  was  —  the  man  who  once  was  Herakles  — 
After  this  wild,  irreparable  wrong, 

This  cruel,  senseless,  irremediable 
Accident  of  my  own  infirmities  — 

Is  dead,  is  damned,  is  shattered,  is  destroyed! 

Know  me  at  last,  Megara,  Megara ! 

Behold  me  naked  and  ruined  as  I  am !  — 

All  that  makes  human  life  desirable; 

All  that  sustains  and  comforts  and  consoles; 

All  that  the  years  can  give  from  birth  to  death 

Of  perishable,  profound,  pure  happiness, 

And  honour,  and  the  clear,  sweet,  tranquil  sense 

Of  innocence,  and  sane,  beneficent  deeds ;  — 

All,  all  is  lost ! Yet  when  I  rose  at  last, 

In  anguish,  from  the  horror  and  abysm 
[    227    ] 


HERAKLES 

Of  lunacy,  scanted,  despoiled,  bereft  — 

A  shattered,  beggared,  blasted  man! — and  cried 

With  a  terrible  voice  for  the  inevitable 

Mercy  of  death  —  it  came  not ! and  I  knew 

My  strength ! and  clear  and  grave  within,  I  heard, 

Thro'  the  tremendous  silence  where  the  dead 
Cumbered  the  stricken  field  of  my  defeat, 

The  soul's  voice  sound  victoriously ! I  saw 

The  inscrutable  skies  of  thought  stand  wide  asunder, 

Splendid  with  stars ! And  then  I  knew,  I  knew 

That  all  was  lost !  —  for  man  shall  lose  his  life 
To  gain  his  life  —  and  more  than  all  was  found  !  — 
Found  was  the  sense  and  source  and  strength  of  life; 
Found  was  the  way,  the  light,  the  truth —  the  soul! 

The  POET 
Who  can  believe  — 

HERAKLES 

Bear  witness  to  the  Truth ! 
This  is  the  secret  I  survive  to  tell : 
To  him  who  hath  abundance  shall  be  given; 
From  him  who  hath  not  shall  be  taken  away 
Even  that  which  he  hath ! 

MEGARA 
—  My  love ! My  children ! 

HERAKLES 

Only  the  soul  survives  —  and  I  survive, 
[    228    J 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

Hardly  and  terribly  enough !  But  now, 

Now  with  a  nameless  sense  of  faith  and  fear, 

Of  grandeur  and  dismay  and  stern  resolve, 

I  know  I  am  invulnerable  —  I  know 

Life  shall  endure,  life  shall  evolve  in  me !  — 

In  me  essential  metamorphoses, 

Phases  and  transformations  of  the  soul! 

In  me  new  strengths  and  new  validities ! 

In  me  conceptions,  pangs,  and  pregnancies, 

Labours  and  parturitions,  throes  of  change, 

Forms  and  conversions  of  the  element ! 

In  me  new  germs  and  new  survivals,  new 

Mutations,  new  futurities  !  In  me 

Perfections,  consummations,  alchemies ! 

In  me  new  life !  —  In  me  exemplified, 

New  life,  more  real,  self-conscious  and  divine  — 

Perfect,  immediate  and  complete  at  last ! 

I  am  the  Life  of  life;  I  am  the  Soul; 

I  am  the  strength,  the  flux,  the  growth,  the  trend ; 

I  am  the  future  and  the  hope  of  man ! 

MEG AU A 

You  ? And  my  hope,   my  future,  —  where   are 

they? 

The  POET 

I  will  believe  when  all  is  justified  — 
Only  when  all  is  served  and  saved  and  done. 
Many  shall  see,  some  shall  proclaim  the  truth : 
[    229    ] 


HERAKLES 

Who  shall  perform  the  truth  ?  Who  shall  descend, 
Wearing  undimmed  the  starlight  on  his  brows, 
And,  with  the  soul's  serene,  essential  strength, 
Toil  in  dark  valleys  of  this  human  world  ? 
Who  shall  perform  the  Labours,  and  in  all 
The  days  and  ways  and  destinies  of  life, 
Bring  his  perfection  perfectly  to  pass  ?  — 
What  of  the  Labours,  Herakles  ? 
CREON  and  AMPHITRYON  appear,  followed  by 
soldiers  and  populace. 

ALCMENA 

-The  King! 

CREON 
Herakles  — 

MEGARA 
Justice !  —  Justice !  — 

AMPHITRYON 

Herakles 

The  POET 
Only  the  truth  is  just. 

The  WOMAN 

He  is  the  Truth. 

CREON 

Wisdom  is  justified  — 

[    230    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

AMPHITRYON 

My  son ! 

HERAKLES 

The  truth 
Only  the  truth  is  justified ! 

CREON 

The  truth  ?  — 
What  is  the  truth  ? 

HERAKLES 

I  am  the  living  Truth. 

CREON 

turning  to  the  people 

There  is  no  strength  nor  power  but  in  God, 
Children  of  Cadmus !  —  Witness  and  believe ! 
Him  you  behold  is  Herakles,  the  man 
More  than  a  man  in  fortune  and  renown, 
Virtue  and  strength,  resolve  and  valiant  deeds. 
You  will  recall  how  yesterday  he  seemed 
Throned  in  a  splendid,  sole  preeminence, 
Pattern  of  men  and  favourite  of  Gods 
And  flower  of  manhood  —  envied  of  the  world ! 

So  was  he  once  superb ! Behold  him  now ! 

There  can  be  now  in  all  the  world  no  man 
So  mean,  so  warred  upon  by  Destiny, 
So  desperate  as  to  envy  Herakles ! 
[    231    ] 


HERAKLES 

Children  of  Cadmus,  for  that  vengeance  is 

Of  God  and  wisdom  is  denied  to  man  — 

For  that  the  strength  of  Herakles  was  more 

Than  human,  and  his  virtue  and  resolve 

More  than  the  virtue  and  resolve  of  men  — 

For  that  his  soul  grew  emulous  of  God 

And  strove  with  God  —  therefore  the  hand  of  God 

Fired  his  brain  with  madness,  and  he  fell !  — 

Fell  as  a  star  falls,  swiftly,  and  is  spent; 

Fell  beyond  all  resource  or  hope And  now, 

Children  of  Cadmus,  now  behold  him  well, 
Infamous,  abject,  desperate,  and  say 
One  to  another,  "This  is  Herakles !" 

HERAKLES 
Say  what  you  will,  you  shall  not  change  the  truth. 

CREON 

Children  of  Cadmus,  witness  and  believe!  — 
Witness  the  will  of  God  exemplified; 
Witness  the  soul's  expectancy  reproved ; 
Witness,  believe,  and  learn  —  as  all  we  must !  — 
Still  to  walk  humbly  in  the  fear  of  God. 
So  will  I  do  —  and  strive  as  best  I  may 
To  follow  in  God's  ways  where  they  may  go. 
Therefore  am  I  resolved  —  seeing,  in  wrath, 
The  hand  of  God  heavy  upon  this  man  — 
To  cast  him  forth,  unpurified,  alone, 
[    232    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

In  the  damnation  of  his  monstrous  guilt, 

To  wander  in  perpetual  banishment ! 

A  brief  silence. 

HERAKLES 

Children  of  Cadmus !  I  have  loved  the  truth  — 
I  have  beheld  the  truth  —  I  am  the  Truth ! 
Once  to  the  world  and  you  I  bade  farewell : 
I  was  a  lover  then,  and  the  Beloved, 
Shining  afar,  leaned  to  my  soul's  embrace !  — 
I  was  a  Seer  then,  and  in  mine  eyes 
The  visionary  light  kindled  and  cleared !  — 
I  loved  —  I  saw  —  I  bade  farewell  —  and  yet 
I  could  not  go !  —  I  merely  loved  and  saw ! 
Love  may  persuade  and  light  may  guide  the  soul : 
It  is  the  work  we  do  which  shall  avail !  — 
Only  the  work  —  the  labours  of  the  spirit 
Wrought  in  the  living  substance  of  the  truth ! 
Therefore  I  could  not  go  when  once  before, 
Dazed  and  deceived,  I  bade  you  all  farewell. 
But  now,  deliberate  and  determined,  now, 
Sane  and  serene,  I  well  may  take  my  leave; 
For  now  at  last  I  am  indeed,  indeed, 
Gone  from  you  all  a  long  and  bitter  way  — 
Stumbled  and  groped  and  climbed,  with  bloody  feet 

And  dreadful  clutching  hands,  above  you  all ! 

It  was  the  rough,  dark  pathway  of  my  strength 
Which  was  not  skilled  to  any  other  road, 
[    233    ] 


HERAKLES 

Yet  did  not  fail  me  when  my  spirit  knew 

Its  utmost  need,  and  which  survives  entire, 

Inflexible  and  irresistible, 

Nourished  and  nerved  to  new  necessities ! 

I  am  become  the  vehicle  of  life's 

Infinite  aspiration  —  now  at  last 

Shaped  to  its  perfect,  true,  divine  intent 

CREON 

Silence !  Your  brain  is  still  diseased  and  dark. 
Therefore  depart,  alone  and  unabsolved ! 

HERAKLES 

I  ask  not  absolution  —  there  is  none ! 
There  are  no  lustral  waters  in  this  world 
Can  cleanse  me  of  their  blood  or  take  away 
The  stigma  of  their  murder !  As  I  am, 
So  I  depart  into  the  future,  so 
I  make  life's  issue  of  the  soul !   Behold ! 
I  am  the  Hero  and  Protagonist 
Of  life,  the  Pioneer  of  life's  true  cause ! 
I  am  the  Sacrifice !  My  purse  must  pay 
The  long,  incalculable  arrears  of  man's 
Folly  and  ignorance  and  wrath  and  wrong  — 
The  price  of  truth,  the  ransom  of  the  soul ! 
For,  as  with  you  and  all  men,  so  with  me : 
The  life  my  father  and  my  mother  gave  me 
Was  all  compounded  of  the  sins  and  woes, 
[    234    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

Passions  and  appetites,  credulities, 
Cruelties,  lies,  hypocrisies  of  man ! 
So  were  my  home,  my  happiness,  my  hope, 

Builded  of  frailty  and  the  stuff  of  dreams 

Therefore  they  fell !    But  in  the  abject  dust, 

See !  how  the  soul's  pure  gold  of  truth  shines  out, 

More  radiant,  more  resplendent,  more  revealed 

In  the  broad,  roofless  day  of  devastation 

Than  ever  it  was  in  the  kind,  tranquil  light 

Of  life's  content  and  blind  security ! 

And  see !  O  see !  —  into  the  light,  the  light  — 

There  where  before  stood  the  safe  walls  of  home  — 

What  liberal,  lonely  spaces  stretch  afar, 

Endless  and  unrestricted,  to  persuade 

The  homeless  soul  to  new  discoveries  — 

New  labours ! 

The  POET 
Labours  ?  — 

HERAKLES 

I  assume  the  task ! 
Mine  are  the  labours,  for  the  wage  is  mine ! 

The  POET 
The  Labours  —  of  Eurystheus  ? 

HERAKLES 

They  are  mine!  — 

Mine  are  the  weakness,  ignorance,  and  lust ; 
[    235    ] 


HERAKLES 

Mine  is  the  mean,  harsh  longing  of  dominion ; 
Mine  are  the  crime  and  cowardice  of  man; 
Mine  is  the  soul  of  man  —  the  self  of  God ! 
And  there  shall  be  no  vile  or  violent  thing 

Left  uninformed  of  my  divinity ! 

Therefore  the  Labours !  —  for  the  soul  must  strive, 
The  God  must  serve,  until  His  virtue  is, 
In  man's  degraded  being  and  abject  heart, 
In  man's  deformed,  incurious,  haunted  mind, 
In  man's  gross  greed  and  dull  brutalities, 
Illustrious  and  exemplified !  —  till  truth, 
Loved  and  proclaimed,  at  last  is  lived  and  known ! 
Farewell ! 

HERAKLES  departs.  The  people,  with  gestures  of 
horror,  draw  aside,  as  tho*  in  fear  of  contamination, 
to  let  him  pass. 

The  POET 
At  last! At  last! 

ALCMENA 

My  boy! 

AMPHITRYON 

My  son! 

MEGARA 

with  a  great  cry 

My  Herakles ! 

[    236    ] 


ELEVENTH  SCENE 

The  WOMAN 
to  the  POET 

Haste !   Haste !   The  best  begins ! 
He  is  before  us  —  let  us  go ! 

The  POET 

You  love 

The  truth  —  I  see  the  truth.  —  He  is  the  Truth ! 
Tho'  it  avail  us  nothing,  let  us  go ! 

The  POET  and  the  WOMAN  turn  and  depart. 


End  of  the  Eleventh  Scene. 


TWELFTH  SCENE 


The  Caucasus.  A  lofty  mountain-peak  rising  in  pinnacles  of 
naked  rock. 

On  a  narrow  ledge,  PROMETHEUS  stands  erect,  chained  to 
the  face  of  the  cliff.  Before  his  feet  the  mountain  falls  sheerly 
away  to  green  pastures  far  below,  which  slope  steeply  to  a 
narrow  beach  of  bright  sand.  The  horizon  of  the  sea  closes 
the  vast  prospect.  On  either  hand  the  trend  of  the  coast,  bor 
dered  by  mountains,  meadow  and  forest,  field  and  stream, 
stretches  in  a  vast  curve  indefinitely  outward  into  the  dis 
tance.  Landward,  as  Jar  as  the  eye  can  reach,  rise  high 
mountains  clothed  with  forests  and  interspersed  with  fertile 
valleys. 

It  is  a  calm,  clear  evening,  about  half  an  hour  before  sunset. 
The  sun  hangs  flaming  over  a  windless  sea  and  in  a  cloud 
less  heaven.  The  moon  just  shows  over  the  eastward  hills. 
In  the  western  sky  there  is  one  star. 

The  vast  figure  of  the  TITAN  stands  motionless  and  superb 
in  the  full  splendour  of  the  setting  sun. 

In  the  time  elapsed  between  this  and  the  preceding  scene, 
HERAKLES  has  accomplished  all  his  great  Labours  except 
the  voyage  to  the  Hesperides. 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

PROMETHEUS 

The  night  returns  —  and  still  Prometheus 
Wears  on  his  limbs  the  chains  He  forged  in  Hell. 
The  night  returns  —  and  soon  the  Bird  of  God 
Returneth  ravening  to  his  massacre. 
The  night  returns  —  and  God  is  in  His  Heaven, 

Throned  in  the  world's  dominion Once  again, 

As  when  I  fared  up  the  prodigious  night 
And  seized  the  Torch  out  of  His  Holy  House, 
Round  His  resplendent  Being  in  Paradise, 
I  seem  to  feel  the  everlasting  Light 
Blend  with  the  voice  of  the  invisible  choirs 

Thro*  mansions  of  perennial  festival 

The  night  returns  —  and  God  is  in  His  Heaven, 
And  fear  and  anger  vex  the  heart  of  God, 
Brooding  on  me  and  my  indomitable 
Rebellion  and  the  soul's  validity; 
While  far  below  men  kindle  in  their  hearths 
And  hearts  the  Fire  I  gave,  giving  them  life! 
These  were  my  works !  I  have  achieved,  God  knows, 
Somewhat  of  everlasting  worth  and  real 
Significance !  —  God  knows  and  life  records 
My  hazardous  and  unalterable  deeds ! 
[    241    ] 


HERAKLES 

Mine  was  the  cosmic  issue  —  and  in  me 
The  purpose  of  the  inexorable  will 
Of  life,  the  process  of  the  endless  flux, 
The  motion  of  the  universal  being, 
Found  its  assured,  victorious  utterance! 
I  was,  in  the  beginning  of  the  world, 
Where  there  was  only  desolation,  death, 
Dismay  and  darkness,  — where  the  lives  of  men 
Were  vile  and  violent  like  the  lives  of  beasts ;  — 
And  I  alone  found  out  the  Great  Idea, 
Found  the  supreme  and  secret  meaning  out; 
And  I  alone  found  out  the  forthright  way 
Of  man's  deliverance,  and  restored  the  light, 
And  made  of  life  a  lovely  and  human  thing, 

And  gave  the  soul  divine  and  pregnant  dreams! 

Man  was  reborn  in  me !  —  and  therefore  God, 
Jealous  and  fearful,  came  in  wrath  against  me, 
Binding  me  captive,  whom  He  could  not  slay, 
Here  on  this  cliff,  where  His  malignant  hate, 
Burning  thro'  aeons  of  unrecorded  time, 
Visits  me  with  intolerable  wrongs. 
Yet,  tho'  I  wear  His  chains,  and  even  now 
The  Eagle  wheels  aloft,  scenting  his  carnage, 
Still  is  my  heart's  inviolate  hope  serene 
And  undismayed ;  still  life  reveals  its  trust ; 
Still  and  forever  I  keep  the  Faith,  and  still 
Bear  and  believe  the  testament  of  Truth. 
The  victory  was  mine  and  mine  shall  be 
[    242    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

The  victory !  —  the  first  and  last  and  best 

Are  mine !  I  saved  mankind  and  now,  in  turn, 

Man  shall  conceive,  in  his  maturity, 

My  Saviour  and  my  Comrade  and  my  Lord! 

Therefore  I  stand,  invincible,  and  wait, 

Solitary  and  august  and  unafraid, 

As  he  must  be  whose  witness  to  mankind 

Is  of  the  free  divinity  of  man. 

Therefore  I  wait  — •  for  He  shall  surely  come ! 

And  when  He  comes,  with  gospel  on  His  lips 

And  revelation  in  His  eyes  and  power 

And  liberty  shining  in  either  hand, 

He  shall  not  find  me  crushed  and  overborne !  — 

Rather,  safe-guarded  by  the  constancy 

Of  an  unwearied  spirit  and  dauntless  heart, 

Shall  He,  at  last,  as  from  a  father's  hands, 

Receive  the  Soul's  unconquered  citadel ! 

HERAKLES  appears  somewhat  higher  up  in  the 
mountain.  He  advances  to  the  sheer  edge  of  the  preci 
pice  and  pauses,  gazing  out  over  the  world.  From 
where  he  stands  PROMETHEUS  is  invisible. 


HERAKLES 

Hither  away  are  the  Hesperides  — 
Hither  away  is  hope  —  hither  away 
The  heart  of  life  yearns  unto  Paradise 
Hither  away  the  insatiable  will 
[    243    ] 


HERAKLES 

Of  life,  grown  conscious  of  its  aim,  intends 

New  liberations,  new  supremacies, 

New  powers  and  new  ineffable  dominions 

And  new  aggrandizements  of  being  and  life's 

New  utterance  of  the  soul's  new  testament ! 

Hither  away  is  the  new  enterprise 

Of  thought;  the  endless  wind,  hither  away, 

Strains  out  the  sails  of  the  mind's  caravel ;  — 

The  stars,  the  sunrise  and  the  land-fall  are 

Out  in  the  dark beyond hither  away ! 

Hither  away  love  is  a  lovelier  thing 
And  of  more  majesty  and  mightier: 
Nerved  to  the  temper  of  supreme  ambitions, 
Filled  with  achievement,  flushed,  immediate,  fain 
Yea,  all  of  profit  and  service  to  the  soul ! 
Hither  away  is  Truth  more  excellent, 
Freedom  more  absolute,  conception  more 
Creative,  life  more  ample  and  lordlier, 
Knowledge  more  vastly  and  serenely  sphered 
In  new  dilate  horizons  of  calm  light, 
Faith  more  secure  and  Justice  more  divine! 
Hither  away  is  the  New  Future !  —  where 
The  harvest  of  the  sowing  of  spent  lives 
Shall  feed  new  generations,  and  suffice 
To  sow  new  fields  and  ripen  and  provide 

The  Living  Bread  of  new  prosperities 

Hither  has  labour  brought  me ;  and  away,  — 
Wise  from  the  past  with  new  proficiencies, 
[    244    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

Single  and  resolute  and  well-matured 
To  new  activities,  new  avatars 
And  new  validities,  —  the  strength  of  life, 
Spent  all  in  conscious  service  to  the  soul, 

Shall  bring  me  on and  on hither  away 

Into  the  Kingdom  and  the  Power  and  the  Glory, 

Into  the  whole  inheritance  of  man! 

O  not  in  vain  have  I  been  up  and  down 
In  the  whole  earth,  and  seen  the  imperial  East 
Whose  florid  cities  shine  under  the  sun 
With  banners  and  dyed  raiment  and  red  gold, 
And  in  the  wide,  wild  West  wandered  to  where, 
Round  the  scarped,  savage,  wind-swept  verge  of  the 
world, 

The  heavy  headlands  stand  into  the  sea ! 

O  not  in  vain,  from  the  Iberian  hills 
To  Themiscyra,  from  the  Libyan  waste 
To  the  Thessalian  plain,  my  feet  have  trod 
The  sea,  the  mountain  and  the  wilderness ; 
My  strength  and  skill  have  brought  the  outlawed  beasts 
Into  subjection,  and,  with  civil  arts 
And  fine  express  proficiencies  and  grave 
Liberal  manners,  cultured  and  endowed 
With  spirit  and  substance  and  significance 
The  shy,  fierce  lives  of  vagrant,  bestial  men ! 
O  not  in  vain  I  served  and  sacrificed, 
Loved  and  was  lonely,  and,  in  mighty  works, 
Extolled  the  Spirit,  and  practised  and  professed 
[    245    ] 


HERAKLES 

Tender  and  excellent  humanities 
And  the  victorious  virtues  of  the  soul ! 
And  not  in  vain,  out  of  the  night  of  Hell, 
I  drew  the  Hound  of  Hell,  the  ravening  Death, 
Into  the  light  of  life,  and  held  him  forth 
Where  the  soul's  sun  shed  lightnings  in  his  eyes 
And  he  was  like  a  thing  of  little  meaning, 
Powerless  and  vain  and  no-wise  terrible  — 
While  with  my  inmost  heart  I  laughed  aloud 
Into  the  blind  and  vacant  face  of  Death, 
And  cast  him  from  me,  so  he  fled  away 
Screaming  into  the  darkness  whence  he  came ! . . . 
Nothing  is  vain  of  all  that  I  have  done ! 
I  have  prevailed  by  labours  and  subdued 
All  that  man  is  below  his  utmost  truth, 
His  inmost  virtue,  his  essential  strength, 
His  soul's  transcendent,  one  preeminence ! 
Yea,  I  have  brought  into  the  soul's  dominion 
All  that  I  am !  —  and  in  the  Master's  House 
There  is  no  strength  of  all  my  mortal  being 
That  does  not  serve  Him  now;  there  is  no  aim, 
There  is  no  secret  which  He  does  not  know; 
There  is  no  will  save  one,  which  is  the  Lord's ! . . 


PROMETHEUS 
calling  with  a  mighty  voice 

O  unutterable  ecstasy  of  hope ! 

O  Son  of  Man! 

[    246    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 
HERAKLES 

Who  calls  me  ?    Who  is  here, 
Sharing  my  solitude  ? 

PROMETHEUS 

O  Son  of  Man!  — 
O  Herakles !  —  I  am  Prometheus ! 

HERAKLES 

swiftly  descending  the  cliff  to  where  PROMETHEUS 

stands  chained 

Prometheus !  —  Prometheus  !  —  Torch-Bearer !  — 
Titan !  —  My  brother !  —  O  my  brother !  — 

PROMETHEUS 

Hail! 

Herakles!  Herakles!   O  Son  of  Man!  — 
O  Liberator !  —  O  holy  day  of  triumph !  — 
My  brother  and  my  son  —  all  is  fulfilled ! 
Yea,  I  have  kept  the  faith,  and  all  is  well, 
All  is  surpassing  well ! 

HERAKLES 

Prometheus !  — 

Friend  and  Redeemer  of  the  life  and  soul 
Of  man !  —  O  Torch-Bearer !  —  receive  from  me 
The  love  and  the  thanksgiving  of  mankind, 
Who  keep  and  celebrate  in  sacred  trust 
F    247    1 


HERAKLES 

Your  memory,  living  with  the  life  you  gave ! 
Receive  out  of  my  heart  the  love,  receive 
The  emulation  of  humanity, 
Which  is  the  harvest  of  your  seed !  —  for  I, 
I  am  of  you  and  yours,  Prometheus ! 
Yours  is  the  light  of  life,  the  light  of  being, 
In  which  I  was  conceived  into  this  world  — 
Father ! 

PROMETHEUS 

Behold,  my  light  is  everywhere ! 

Light  —  where  the  sun  gorgeously  dies  away, 
Aureoled  with  its  own  magnificence; 
Light  —  where  the  quiet,  interminable  sea 
Shines  like  a  blind  and  burnished  shield  of  gold; 
Light  —  where  the  sky  utters  a  single  star ; 
Light  —  where  the  ethereal  vesture,  pale  as  mist, 
Spun  of  the  scant,  strange  silver  of  the  moon, 

Hangs  on  the  shoulders  of  the  heaven- ward  hills 

See !  the  whole  sphered,  smooth  skies  are  like  a  bowl 
Carved  of  a  single  azurite  and  brimmed 
With  golden  wine,  with  light !  —  to  slake  the  thirst 
Of  man's  insatiable  spirit,  and  rouse, 
Far  in  the  depths  of  his  creative  mind, 
Light,  the  eternal  light,  which  there  displays 
Commensurate  splendours  and  sublimities 
To  these  of  God's  initial  ordinance ! 
O  Light  —  eternal  Light !   O  miracle 
[    248    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

And  benediction  —  tranquil,  tender  majesty  — 
Spacious  and  grave  serenity  of  light ! 

0  meaning,  revelation,  breath  of  Me  — 
Interpretation  and  significance, 

Prospect  and  clear  persuasion  of  the  truth  — 
Impalpable  essence  of  the  universal  being  — 
Light !  —  of  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars  —  the 

soul ! 

Here  have  I  stood,  —  how  long,  day  after  day !  — 
Sole  in  my  strength  as  in  a  watch-tower, 
And  seen,  abroad  over  the  living  world, 
The  punctual  sunrise  and  the  stars  return, 
The  light  return,  to  me  illustrious ! 
Thus  have  I  been  assured,  and  thus  received 
My  life's  recognizance  —  seeing  the  light 
Witness  my  worth  and  vindicate  my  deed; 
Seeing  the  light  perennial,  and  the  life  — 

To  me  and  mine  perennial  victory ! 

And  now,  O  Son !  —  O  Son  of  Man !  —  O  strength 
Born  of  my  strength !  —  I  know  not  all  in  vain 

1  nursed  mankind  with  mystic  hopes  and  dreams, 
And  gave,  out  of  God's  violated  dwelling, 
Eternal  treasures  to  ephemeral  man ! 

I  know  not  all  in  vain  I  have  endured 
These  violent  years  and  harsh  extremities : 
For  you,  conceived  of  my  humanity, 
You  are  my  celebration  and  my  crown, 
You  are  my  perfect  proof ! 

[    249    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

Prometheus !  — 

With  all  my  friendless,  childless,  desolate, 
And  lonely  heart  I  love  you !  Let  us  be, 
Henceforward  and  together  without  end, 

As  brother  and  brother,  blent  in  perfect  love 

O  to  surrender  utterly  —  to  give, 
Utterly  and  at  last  and  all  in  all, 
The  passionate  proud  liberality 
Of  the  unspared,  exultant,  eloquent, 

Abandoned,  loosed  and  loving  heart  of  man ! 

O  to  commune  as  equals !   O  to  share 
The  soul  that  finds  no  less  than  life  itself, 
And  all  of  life  and  love  and  death  and  birth 
And  being  its  special  issue !  —  O  my  brother, 
Give  me  your  love  and  blend  your  light  with  mine ! 
What  may  we  not  achieve,  who  have  so  wrought 
Apart  and  lonely  —  being  at  last  as  one : 
One  heart,  one  soul,  one  life,  one  enterprise ! 
Come !  let  us  hence 

PROMETHEUS 

O  to  the  end  of  the  world  — 

O  to  the  end  of  time  and  truth,  together 
Let  us  go  hence ! I  love  you,  Herakles ! 

He  starts  toward  HERAKLES.     The  fetters  restrain 


[    250    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 

Shatter  the  bonds !  Rise  from  the  fetters !  Rise ! 
Come!  — let  us  go  in  strength,  and  quietly 
Blent  in  one  meditation  and  one  vision, 

Elate,  into  the  future,  hand  in  hand 

Come !  —  for  the  light  of  life  clears  and  abounds ; 
Come !  —  the  supreme  occasion  is  prepared ; 
Come !  —  the  victorious  voice  of  love  proclaims 
The  epic  grandeur  of  the  soul's  ambition ! 
Suffer  His  chains  no  more,  Prometheus ! 
The  hour  is  now  —  rise  and  depart  with  me ! 
Will  you  be  lax  now  the  great  door  stands  wide 
Asunder,  and  salvation  is  at  hand  ? 
Where  is  your  faith  ?  —  Alas,  Prometheus, 
Where  is  your  strength  ? 

PROMETHEUS 

struggling  vainly  against  the  fetters 

My  strength  has  well  sufficed 
Here  to  withstand  God's  grim  omnipotence, 
Day  after  day,  despite  what  agonies! 

HERAKLES 
Shatter  the  chains ! 

PROMETHEUS 
still  struggling  in  vain 

He  will  not  let  me  go 

[    251    ] 


HERAKLES 

Yet,  tho*  His  strength  prevails  against  me  thus, 

He  is  not  now  victorious  —  I  am  still 

Stedf ast  and  undefeated !   It  is  well 

With  me !  —  for  all  the  utmost  power  of  God 

Can  rob  me  of  my  honour  by  no  means, 

Nor  vex  the  heart's  exultant  happiness ! 

HERAKLES 

Honour  and  happiness  ?  —  O  hungry  heart, 
Dreaming  of  love!   O  rash,  insensate  hope 
Of  friendship  and  of  free  communion ! 
O  stern,  relentless  solitude !  —  Alas ! 
Alas,  Prometheus,  yours  are  empty  words ! 
What  is  the  honour  of  a  captive  soul  ? 
What  is  the  happiness  a  heart  can  feel, 
Whose  love  refrains,  whose  faith  falters  and  fails  ? 

PROMETHEUS 

You  speak  at  ease,  knowing  no  fate  like  mine : 
It  is  a  happy  and  honourable  thing 
Thus  to  preserve  so  long  inviolate 
The  life  where  human  hope  finds  sanctuary, 
And  keep  aloft  the  blood-stained  banner  of  man's 
Rebellion,  like  a  challenge  and  defiance, 

Flowing  in  the  free  wind  of  life  forever ! 

It  is  a  happy  and  honourable  thing 
Thus  to  withstand  the  very  power  of  God, 

And  bear  so  long  unspeakable  agonies ! 

[    252    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 

Thus  to  withstand  a  phantom,  and  endure 

The  anguish  of  a  self-inflicted  pain  ?  — 
Honour  and  happiness  are  cheaply  bought, 
Yea,  for  a  little  price,  Prometheus ! 

PROMETHEUS 

A  little  price  ?  —  this  dire  captivity, 
These  tortures,  aeons  and  aeons  long! 


HERAKLES 

The  price 

Is  small,  since  it  is  insufficient  to  the  cost 
Of  liberty,  and  has  not  paid  the  living  wage 
Of  the  soul's  nurture  in  the  coin  of  truth. 
Life  you  have  kept  inviolate  —  and  so  much, 
In  all  your  captive  and  disconsolate  years, 
Was  honourably  done.   What  is  there  more  ? 
What  have  you  done  with  life,  Prometheus  ?  — 
O  you  have  treasured  unprofitable  things, 
Lain  sick  and  idle  in  the  lap  of  dreams, 
And  wasted  life  and  strength  in  senseless  war 
With  vain  imaginings ! 

PROMETHEUS 

Nay,  but  with  the  Living 

God! 

HERAKLES 

Who  then  is  God,  and  what  is  He  ? 

[    253    ] 


HERAKLES 

Enough !  —  I  know  you,  and  I  know  your  worth ; 
And  I  salute  you  and  acknowledge  you, 
Prometheus,  and  your  strong,  magnificent  deeds. 
Here  I  salute  and  specify  in  you 
The  long,  defiant  life,  proud  and  resolved; 
The  dim,  strong,  spiritual,  heroic  trust; 
The  courage  and  the  unconquerable  will, 
Which  held  you  stedf ast  in  the  urgent  fear 
Of  dire,  fantastic  dreams  and  spectral  things. 
Yet,  in  the  strict  account,  nothing  is  new 
Since  the  beginning,  when  your  splendid  deed 
Brought  light  into  the  darkness  of  the  world ;  — 
And  know  you  well  no  splendour  can  suffice 
Save  for  the  moment's  payment  and  reward ! 

The  voice  of  the  POET 

from  far  below  ;  sounding  clear  tho9  faint  in  the  distance 
No  single,  excellent  deed, 
Born  of  the  spirit's  utmost  need,  — 
No  one  magnificent 

Stress  of  impassioned  virtue,  nobly  wrought,  — 
No  honourable  and  manly  pride 
Of  an  eternal  conflict,  hardly  fought,  — 
No  desolation  where  the  soul  is  tried  — 
No  grim  captivity  where  life  is  spent  — 
No  pain,  no  sacrifice, 

No  strength,  no  splendour  can  alone  suffice 
To  pay  the  constant  cost  of  liberty, 
[    254    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

The  daily  wage  of  truth's  enlightenment. 
Nothing  accrues  !  —  Of  all  the  soul  has  been 
And  learned  and  done  there  is  no  usury, 
Save  as  the  Light  is  more  before  us  seen, 
And  the  occasion  more  sufficiently 
Prepared  —  more  grandly  and  more  arduously ! 
And,  save  as  we 

Are  —  by  the  endless  labours  undismayed  — 
More  apt  to  learn,  more  eager  to  become, 
More  prompt  to  go  and  more  resolved  to  be 
Free  in  the  universal  truth,  which  is  our  home. 
The  living  of  the  soul  is  daily  earned 
And  daily  spent  —  to-day  the  price  is  paid ; 
To-day  the  truth  is  learned; 
Yet  is  the  labour  by  no  means  gainsaid, 
For  all  is  partial  and  provisional  — 

Yea,  to  the  end  of  all! 

Yea,  we  shall  hear  again  the  forward  call 
To-morrow ;  and  to-morrow  we  shall  wake 
To  find  to-morrow's  payment  still  to  make; 
And  we  shall  rise  to-morrow  and  renew 
The  labour;  and  to-morrow  truth  shall  be 
As  strange  and  true  and  splendid  as 
To-day  and  yesterday  it  was, 
The  way  shall  be  as  endless,  we 
As  eager,  and  the  world  as  new! 

A  moment  of  silence. 
[    255    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

It  is  my  poet,  singing  his  soul  away 

Hear  him,  Prometheus,  for  his  songs  are  sooth  — 

And  all  shall  come  to  pass ! Only,  for  you 

All  has  been  long  postponed ;  but  now,  at  last, 
To-morrow  and  the  labour  and  the  truth 
Are  here  at  hand  —  and  truth  is  terrible ! 
Courage,  O  Titan !  O  Prometheus, 
Courage,  courage !  —  you  shall  more  need  it  now 
That  I  am  come  to  strip  you  of  your  chains, 
Your  lifelong  honour  and  your  happiness, 
And  leave  you  real  and  bare  in  the  real  world, 
Than  ever  when  all  alone,  incessantly, 
You  stood  superb  against  the  power  of  God 

And  took  no  ease  of  the  remorseless  pain 

You  shall  more  need  it  now  to,  gloriously, 
And  more  magnificently  than  God,  and  more 
With  loveliness  and  with  simplicity 
And  the  sufficient,  quiet,  serious  strength 
Which  He  had  not,  who  thundered  and  was  hidden, 
Assume  —  resume,  perhaps,  after  so  long !  — 
Dominion  over  more  than  ever  He 
Held  under  various  rule  of  fear  and  love. 
Courage,  Strong  Heart,  courage!  —  for  now,  at  last, 
You  shall  recover  what  you  gave  away 
Such  countless  vague  millenniums  ago :  — 
The  Kingdom  and  the  Power  and  the  Glory, 
The  strength,  the  will,  the  clear  eternities 
[    256    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

Of  truth,  the  sacred  miracles  of  love, 

The  widening  skies,  the  calm  infinities 

Of  liberty  —  the  inherent  heritage  of  man, 

So  long  estranged  under  God's  usurpation ! 

PROMETHEUS 

I  shall  recover? My  inheritance? 

Mine? What  betides? O  what  shall  come  to 

pass  ? 

Where  is  my  victory  —  the  full,  the  flushed 
And  mystic  consummation  of  my  dreams  ? 

The  voice  of  the  POET 

somewhat  nearer 

Courage !  for  thus  and  only  thus  — 
As  we  are  prompt  and  hazardous, 
As  we  are  rapt,  religious  and  austere  — 
We  are  victorious, 

And  find  the  strange,  steep  way,  and  hear 
The  airs  rush  into  song  before  our  flight, 
And  pass  out  of  the  night, 
Persuaded  by  a  single  star, 
And  learn  that  where  the  soul's  adventures  are 
The  truth's  discovery  is  near, 
And  the  delight 
Of  liberty,  and  paeans,  and  pageantries  of  light ! 

HERAKLES 
Courage !  — 

[    257    ] 


HERAKLES 

PROMETHEUS 
My  strength  and  courage  shall  suffice, 

HERAKLES 

You  shall  be  more  victorious  than  you  dreamed, 
Prometheus  !  —  for  your  victory  is  truth, 
Only  conceived  in  the  unfettered  mind 
Which,  of  the  gross  amorphous  element 
Of  life,  in  its  alembic  subtly  fused 
And  wonderfully  transfigured,  makes  the  clear 
Cogency  of  the  universal  laws. 
Yea,  God  has  long  enough  stood  in  the  plain, 
Noble  and  forthright  way  of  man's  ambition, 
Wielded  his  regency,  and  for  a  mess 
Of  pottage  bought  his  vast  inheritance ;  — 

And  man  shall  come  into  his  kingdom! God, 

As  truth  discerns,  is  of  the  infancy 

Of  man  —  the  primal,  dim,  projected  shape 

In  which  his  anxious  mind  figured  at  large, 

On  the  vast  shadow  of  his  ignorance, 

His  sense  of  the  inevitable  Unknown, 

The  chance,  blind  sum  of  nameless  energies, 

Amid  whose  secret  peril  he  walked  in  darkness, 

Bearing  the  light  of  life's  concentred  fire, 

The  pure,  fine  flame  of  the  self-realized  soul, 

Fearfully  on  its  way,  windy  with  doom 

For  thus,  in  symbols,  fables,  parables, 
We  are  expressed ;  we  hear  some  vague  report 
[    258    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

Of  what  we  know  not,  and  our  minds  devise 
Some  image  that  shall  well  enough  suffice 
To  methodize  to  thought's  austere  command, 
To  reason's  quiet,  inevitable  terms, 
The  garbled  jargon  that  the  senses  speak  — 

Which  are  persuaded  of  the  Something  there! 

Thus  rose  the  myth  of  God,  when  time  was  young, 
When,  curious  of  whatever  strictly  shaped 
The  horror  and  hardship  of  his  destiny, 
Man's  fear  and  ignorance  conceived  the  cause 
In  his  own  likeness,  and  believed  —  and  wept ! 
Now  we  have  looked  abroad  and  looked  within, 
Straining  the  symbol,  and  we  learn  to  know, 
Quietly  and  at  last,  its  secret  sense, 
Shadowed  and  insufficiently  set  forth, 
Is,  in  the  meaning  and  the  truth,  ourselves !  — 
We  are  the  Gods !  We  are  the  Householders 
Of  heaven  and  earth  and  all  that  in  them  is ! 
It  is  your  Self,  your  universe  and  mine, 
Prometheus  —  yours    and    mine    and    man's    for 
ever  ! 

PROMETHEUS 

Mine  is  God's  burden  of  the  universe  ? 

Mine  the  relentless  energies  of  God, 
Which  lurk  beneath  this  candid  and  benign 
Masque  of  perennial  nature,  and  conspire 

To  compass  man's  destruction  and  despair  ? 

[    259    ] 


HERAKLES 

I  am  alone  ? I  am  responsible  ? 

O  nothing,  nothing  of  all  my  dreams  conies  true! 

The  voice  of  the  POET 

nearer  than  before 
Brave,  spiritual,  and  strong, 
Let  us  take  wings  and  will,  O  Soul !  for  we, 
We  have  too  long,  too  idly  and  too  long, 
In  fate's  relentless  grip, 
Lain  like  a  derelict  ship 
Cast  from  the  shining  circles  of  the  sea 
High  on  the  shores  of  time's  captivity. 
Let  us  take  wings  and  will !  —  perchance 
To-day,  the  least  of  life's  impartial  days, 
In  unpremeditated,  common  ways, 
We  shall  achieve  deliverance  — 
And  wake,  and  hearken,  and  hear 
The  rush  of  the  changing  tide 
And  the  shout  of  the  flood  returning,  deep  and  wide, 
Over  the  reefs  of  doubt  and  fear, 
Over  the  shoals  of  change  and  chance, 
Over  the  shores  of  time  —  and  feel, 
Under  our  keel, 
The  old  ecstatic  buoyancy, 

The  strong,  smooth,  spacious,  sun-starred  breast  of 
the  Sea! 

HERAKLES 

Prometheus!   Prometheus!   Prometheus! — 
[    260    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

The  soul  of  man  can  never  be  enslaved 

Save  by  its  own  infirmities,  nor  freed 

Save  by  its  very  strength  and  own  resolve 

And  constant  vision  and  supreme  endeavour ! 

You  will  be  free  ?  Then,  courage,  O  my  brother !  — 

O  let  the  soul  stand  in  the  open  door 

Of  life  and  death  and  knowledge  and  desire 

And  see   the   peaks   of   thought   kindle  with  sun 


rise 


Then  shall  the  soul  return  to  rest  no  more, 

Nor  harvest  dreams  in  the  dark  fields  of  sleep 

Rather  the  soul  shall  go  with  great  resolve 
To  dwell  at  last  upon  the  shining  mountains 

In  liberal  converse  with  the  eternal  stars 

O  let  the  soul  feel  the  unhindered  wind 
Blow  out  at  sunrise  to  the  dazzled  sea, 

Strain  in  its  sails  and  urge  its  enterprise! 

Then  shall  it  tarry  in  the  anchorage, 
By  teeming  wharves  of  vulgar  merchandise, 
No  more  —  but  rather  choose  to  go  abroad 
Into  the  great,  gold  morning,  and  afar, 

Where,  from  new  skies,  new  seas  receive  the  light 

O  let  the  soul,  at  truth's  persuasion,  wake 
And  understand !  —  it  shall  not  then  endure 
To  fail  and  be  at  peace  and  profitless : 
For  little  glory  has  it  of  all  this  world, 
And  all  its  strength  is  nervous  and  disused 
In  the  low,  little  labours  of  mankind. 
[    261    ] 


HERAKLES 

It  is  alone  and  understood  by  none; 
Its  speech  is  not  of  vain,  vile,  violent  things; 
But  on  its  lips  the  dominant,  great  voice, 
Which  is  the  one  true  voice,  cries  out  in  song 
Of  Lord-ship  and  a  last  deliverance !  — 
It  is  the  soul  of  man  —  and  can  not  stay ; 
It  is  the  soul  of  man  —  and  may  not  rest ; 
It  is  the  soul  of  man  —  and  will  not  fail, 
And  shall  not  cease  to  labour  evermore, 
Until  at  last  its  own  infinity 

Is  in  its  own  perfection  all  conceived! . 

Prometheus !  Prometheus !  —  God  is  dead, 

And  man  is  overcome !  —  and  you  and  I 

And  all  men  whatsoever  whose  minds  report 

The  truth,  whose  lives  exemplify  the  soul  — 

We  are  the  Heirs  of  all  the  universe, 

And  of  ourselves  supremely,  all  in  all! 

Yea !  —  for  the  Lord,  who  dreamed  of  regencies 

Too  little  perfect  and  resplendent,  and 

Set  over  them  celestial  deputies 

In  His  own  image,  feigned  and  fabulous, 

Is  come  into  His  kingdom  out  of  sleep ! 

Yea !  —  for  the  hour  is  come,  the  Lord  is  roused  — 

And  all  is  His,  and  all  is  victory! 

A  scant  moment's  silence.    Then,  his  voice  sounding 
like  a  summons: 

Prometheus !  —  You  are  free !  —  Prometheus !  — 
[    262    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

PROMETHEUS  raises  his  arms.  The  fetters  fall 
from  his  limbs.  He  takes  a  step  forward  to  the  edge 
of  the  precipice. 

PROMETHEUS 
Free 

His  face  turns  skyward.   In  the  last,  dark  flush  of  the 
sunset  the  EAGLE  appears,  swooping  swiftly  down. 

God's  winged  blood-hound  falls  to  his  quarry 

HERAKLES 
Your  eagle  comes  as  a  tamed  hawk  returns 

The  EAGLE  sweeps  down  and  lights  on  the  shoulder 
of  PROMETHEUS,  where  it  folds  its  great  wings 
and  remains  motionless. 

The  voice  of  the  POET 

close  at  hand 

And  then !  —  O  then  it  is,  after  the  deed  is  done, 
And   the  Great  Gates  stand  open,  and  we   are 

gone, 

Who  shall  no  more  return, 
Foundered  and  tempest-driven, 
As  drift  and  wreckage  on  the  shores  of  time  — 
O  then  and  thus  it  is  we  learn 
How  all  the  soul  was  skilled  to  ask  is  given ! 
And  wonderfully  and  nobly  we  discern 
A  sense  of  life  transcendent  and  sublime, 
[    263    ] 


HERAKLES 

A  knowledge  that  we  shall  by  no  means  miss 

The  love,  the  grace,  the  grandeur  that  we  earn ! 

For  then  and  thus  it  is 

The  soul  achieves  its  metamorphosis, 

The  Sleeper  wakes  within  the  House  of  Dream, 

And,  deep  within  the  vision  of  his  eyes, 

In  the  starred,  silent  heights  of  heaven 

The  incommensurable  night  is  riven, 

And  in  the  blinding  beam 

Of  dawn  across  unfathomable  skies, 

His  wings   flash  skyward  from  their  shattered 

chrysalis! 

Thus  do  we  end  our  exile;  then  it  is 

We  find  the  last  release,  and  rise, 

Knowing  the  truth  which  testifies 

That  pain  and  time  and  long  captivity 

And  life  and  death  and  destined  circumstance 

Are  only  phases  of  our  ignorance ! 

And  thus  it  is  at  last  that  we, 

After  great  love  and  long  adjournments,  see 

The  pinnacles  of  thought  lighten  with  song  — 

And  all  the  spirits  of  the  Free, 

Calm  and  majestic,  move  along 

In  an  ascending  theory! 

While  we  stand  with  wings  and  will 
Nerved  to  the  task  before  us  still; 
While  we  watch  with  stedfast  eyes, 
Clear  and  valiant  as  a  bell, 
[    264    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

The  flame  of  thought  that  never  dies ; 

While  we  explore  the  secret  none  can  tell ; 

While  we  prepare,  in  tense  tranquillity, 

For  the  inveterate  miracle, 

The  soul's  perennial  truth,  the  truth's  perennial 
liberty! 

Ascending  from  below,  the  POET  and  the  WOMAN 
appear,  faint  and  exhausted,  on  the  level  where 
HERAKLES  and  PROMETHEUS  are  standing. 

The  WOMAN 
Herakles! 

She  falls  fainting  to  the  ground. 

The  POET 

Love  has  spent  its  strength and  I 

Am  hardly  come  so  far  after  my  vision 

He  falls  on  his  knees  beside  the  WOMAN. 

HERAKLES 

O  human  heart  of  love !  —  O  Visionary, 
Filled  with  the  sacred  utterance  of  song !  — 
Welcome !  The  hour  is  come  and  gone.  Behold !  — 
Yours  is  the  victory,  for  man  is  free ! 

PROMETHEUS 

Free !  —  I  hear  Pyrrha  crying  in  the  darkness 

And  Epimetheus  calls  me and  Pandora 

[    265    ] 


HERAKLES 

Sings  in  the  total  night  desolate  songs 

And  strange,  old  legends,  dim  with  secrecies 

I  see  Deukalion's  face,  fierce  and  afraid, 

Staring  aloft  into  the  new,  bleak  light! 

I  was  a  thing  of  terror  and  of  tears 

To  them  —  more  sad  and  terrible  than  death !  — 

When,  with  my  hollow  reed  of  the  pure  flame 

Of  everlasting,  living  light,  I  came 

Among  them,  flushed,  triumphant,  fabulous,  — 

Came  as  the  herald  of  life's  endless  task, 

With  trumpet-calls  and  splendid  exhortations, 

Eloquent  in  my  hour  of  victory ! 

I  was  a  thing  of  terror  and  of  tears 

To  them  —  my  turn  has  come  to  fear  and  weep ! 

For  now  I  stand  in  the  beginning  —  I, 

Prometheus  !  —  as  they  stood  in  the  beginning  — 

Pyrrha,  Deukalion,  Hellen,  mortal  men 

And  women  —  with  the  life  they  had  not  asked !. 

I  stand  in  the  beginning,  stand  and  weep 

Here  in  the  new,  bleak  light  of  liberty, 

As  once  they  stood  and  wept,  seeing  the  light!... 

I  stand  in  the  beginning  —  I,  who  once 

Believed  fond  fancies  of  the  mystic  end  — 

The  unimaginable,  fantastic,  dim 

Apotheosis  of  my  hopes  and  dreams! 

I  stand  in  the  beginning !  God  is  dead, 
And  man  is  overcome,  and  I  am  free !  — 

And  who  am  I  ? And  what  is  liberty  ? 

[    266    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

HERAKLES 

Liberty  is  the  freedom  to  become 
Free 

The  POET 
The  soul's  long  day's  work  is  liberty. 

HERAKLES  turns  and  begins  to  ascend  the  mountain. 

PROMETHEUS 

Mine  is  the  long  day's  work Mine  is  the  soul 

Mine  is  the  freedom  to  be  free I  know 

At  last  and  without  question,  suddenly, 
There  is  no  Power  in  whose  almighty  hands 
I  can  lay  down  the  burden  of  this  world ; 
And  I  am  all  alone  and  utterly 
Real  and  responsible ;  and  now  my  house 
Of  life  is  ruined,  and  I  am  left  alone, 

Shelterless  and  at  large,  like  a  poor  beast 

All  that  I  was  —  my  value  and  my  worth, 
My  sense  and  strength  —  is  gone ! The  mind's  de 
fiance, 

The  heart's  indomitable  rebellion,  are 
No  more;  no  more  the  tortures  and  the  chains; 
Honour  and  pride  and  happiness  no  more ! 
These  were  my  virtue,  these  my  hope  and  faith, 
These  were  my  own,  my  life's,  significance : — 

They  are  no  more! And  in  the  stead  of  them, 

What  is  my  meaning,  aim,  and  end  ? 

[    267    ] 


HERAKLES 

HERAKLES 

standing  higher  in  the  mountain,  in  the  place  where  he 
first  appeared 

To  you, 

As  you  to  Pyrrha  and  Deukalion, 
Now  I  renew,  appraised  and  amplified 
And  more  sublime,  more  glorious,  more  secure, 
The  one  true,  perfect,  and  profitable  gift !  — 
All  that  there  is  at  all  I  give  you !  —  Lo, 
Yours  is  the  Universe  and  yours  the  Soul, 
And  life  and  labour  and  liberty  are  yours 

To  understand  and  blend  them  into  one! 

All  that  there  is  I  give  you,  and  no  less, 

And  nothing  more !  —  no  phantoms  and  vain  dreams, 

No  spectral  fears  and  false  expectancies, 

No  empty  honour,  no  vainglorious  joy. 

These  are  destroyed  —  but  not  that,  in  their  stead, 

Other,  tho'  lordlier,  vain  imaginings 

And  awful  ghosts  and  unsubstantial  things 

Should  fill  the  shadows  whence  their  shapes  are  gone ; — 

Rather  are  they  destroyed  that  in  their  room 

The  soul  of  man  may  go  abroad  at  last, 

Gravely  and  quietly,  as  befits  the  soul; 

And  freely,  masterfully  and  wisely  dwell 

In  the  waste,  spacious  realm,  withheld  so  long ! 

PROMETHEUS 

I  understand  at  last.    The  end  is  come 
[    268    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

Of  all  my  dreams,  for  now  the  new  bleak  light 
Of  the  Beginning  is  upon  mine  eyes, 

And  I  am  wakened ! And  I  understand 

At  last And  Truth  is  grave  and  chaste  as  death 

And  radiant  as  life  is  in  its  whole  strength! 
So,  as  I  may,  I  take  the  stern,  great  gift: 
Mine  is  the  Soul,  and  mine  the  Universe; 
Mine  is  the  burden,  mine  the  task.   I  know 
The  price  of  Truth,  the  worth  of  Liberty. 
I  understand  at  last  —  and  now  my  strength 
Returns !  —  Where  are  the  labours  and  the  life  ? . . . , 
Where  is  the  conflict  ? Where  the  victory  ? 

HERAKLES 

Knowledge  alone  is  victory !  When  all 
Is  understood,  all  is  subdued,  received, 
Possessed  and  perfect.   For  the  soul  of  man 
Is,  in  the  universe  of  force  and  change, 
Of  blind,  immeasurable  energies, 
Subtile  and  secret  and  supremely  one, 
The  sole  self -realized  power,  the  single  strength 
Aimed  and  reflective  and  perfectible. 
Therefore  alone  the  mind's  conception  turns 
Chaos  to  cosmos,  ignorance  to  truth, 
Force  to  the  freedom  of  articulate  laws  — 
Giving  to  phases  of  the  senseless  flux, 
One  after  one,  the  soul's  identity. 
Yea,  of  the  soul  is  all  our  hope !  To  know 
[    269    ] 


HERAKLES 

Is  truth  and  freedom !  —  Therefore,  O  my  Brother, 
Therefore  beyond  us,  in  the  vast  Unknown, 
Waiting  the  power  and  conquest  of  the  mind, 

Is  the  far  prospect  of  our  enterprise! 

And  should  we  come  into  dominion !  —  then, 
O  then,  at  last,  when  all  is  lived  and  learned, 
Loved  and  received  in  its  eternal  kind  — 
When  we  are  Gods  and  Saviours,  every  one  — 
When  in  communion  and  accord  we  dwell 
As  native  in  each  far,  impermanent  star, 
And  in  the  inhospitable  vacancies 
Are  welcome  and  securely  domiciled  — 
When  we  are  strangers  nowhere  in  the  earth 
Or  sea,  and  nowhere  in  the  being  of  man  — 
When  the  long  life  of  all  man's  endless  lives, 
Its  gradual  pregnancies,  its  pangs  and  throes, 
Its  countless  multitudes  of  perished  Gods 
And  outworn  forms  and  spent  humanities, — 
When  all  the  cosmic  process  of  the  past 
Stands  in  the  immediate  compass  of  our  minds  — 
When  all  is  present  to  us  and  all  is  known, 
Even  to  the  least,  even  to  the  uttermost, 
Even  to  the  first  and  last  —  when,  over  all, 
The  widening  circles  of  our  thought  expand 
To  infinite  horizons  everywhere  — 
Then,  tenoned  in  our  foothold  on  the  still, 
Supernal,  central  pinnacle  of  being, 
Shall  we  not  look  abroad  and  look  within, 
[    270    ] 


TWELFTH  SCENE 

Over  the  total  Universe,  the  vast, 

Complex  and  vital  sum  of  force  and  form, 

And  say,  in  one,  sufficient  utterance, 

The  single,  whole,  transcendent  Truth,  —  "I  am!" 

A  brief  silence. 

The  POET 
rising  to  his  feet 
Come !  I  will  lead  you  down,  Prometheus ! 

PROMETHEUS 

Down 

My  Son !  —  My  Brother !  —  must  we  say  farewell  ? 

HERAKLES 
Hither  away  are  the  Hesperides 

The  POET 

Come !  I  will  lead  you  down,  Prometheus,  down, 
Where,  in  reality,  in  deed,  in  truth, 
Your  work  begins ! 

PROMETHEUS 

Where  does  the  work  begin  ? 

HERAKLES 
There,  wheresoever  the  soul's  dominion  ends ! 

For  a  moment  no  one  moves.    Then  PROMETHEUS 
slowly   gathers  the  WOMAN  in  his  huge  arms, 
[    271    ] 


HERAKLES 

and  begins  to  descend  the  mountain,  the  POET 
leading  the  way.  The  last  vestige  of  sunset  is  gone. 
The  night  is  calm  and  perfect.  The  thin  figure  of  the 
POET  and  the  vast  stature  of  the  TITAN,  with 
the  insensible  WOMAN  upon  his  breast,  and  the 
great  EAGLE  still  perched  upon  his  shoulder,  loom 
vaguely  in  the  still  moonlight.  HERAKLES  stands 
motionless  on  his  eminence, —  clear,  strong,  and  solitary 
against  the  stars. 


The  End. 


THE 

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